What is Choice?
by dettiot
Summary: Post-Chosen and AU. SpikeBuffy, but only kinda. What exactly is choice? Fate? A soul? Love?
1. Prologue: I'll Stop the World

What is Choice?  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.  
  
Spoilers: Through Chosen.   
  
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. It's partially inspired by MadRog's great WIP, Memory Redux. So go read it on the Crypt(http://home.att.net/~lubakmetyk/crypt.htm#redux) if you get a chance.  
  
This story wouldn't exist, in its current form, without the support and hard work of three people: Cindy, Miriam, and Mezzibelle. Cindy and Miriam gave much-needed support along the way, along with great cheerleading, and Mezzibelle whipped it into shape and removed many extraneous commas, among other much-needed changes. So if you like this story, it's due to them in large part. And for that reason, they have my overwhelming thanks.   
  
This story will also be posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html) as I post chapters to various places.  
  
Chapter title from Modern English's song "Melt with You." All of the chapter titles come from songs I listened to as I wrote this story.  
  
Prologue: I'll Stop the World and Melt With You  
  
For months after the day that her old world ended, she didn't think of him. Didn't mention his name or reflect on his loss. Didn't even dream of him.  
  
The person she'd depended on, trusted, and loved the most at the end . . . and his face didn't even appear in her mind's eye.  
  
Later on, after everything that happened, Buffy wondered how it had been possible. It was almost like she had completely forgotten Spike, but not exactly. More like the actions he had taken eclipsed his mere presence. The end result was the same: Angelus was sent to Hell, Glory was defeated, the Hellmouth was closed . . . just any details of his involvement, his very existence, didn't seem to matter.   
  
As she had stared into the giant crater that sucked seven years of material possessions away from her, something else was also removed.  
  
Every thought, every feeling, every memory concerning Spike was delicately and carefully removed. It approached a level of skill that only Dawn's appearance surpassed. The magic, the power, necessary to create such a blank state boggled her mind.  
  
Of course, at the time it happened she didn't realize it. She stood on the edge of the crater and she knew the Hellmouth was closed, and that she was no longer just the Slayer, or one of the Chosen Two. She was one of many, one of thousands of girls endowed with the strength to defeat the forces of darkness.  
  
Buffy stood in the sunlight, filled with hopes and dreams and wishes. And she smiled.  
  
**  
  
In a dimension not dissimilar to ancient Greece, the Three Fates gathered in a shady grove, performing their duties. Of course, the Fates had never been in ancient Greece; they had no care what the construct resembled. Yet they did have links to the mortal world, so the Fates had built their corner of this world to resemble the world of the first people who had any inkling of their existence. So, the Fates were attired in togas, and supped on nectar and ambrosia when they had need of it.  
  
As they had done since the beginning of time, Clotho spun the thread of life, Lachesis measured, and Atropos cut. Each had her role to play and each was perfectly suited to it. The Fates performed their tasks calmly, peacefully. They had nearly no investment in the mortal lives they weighed; it was thought best if they remained unknowing of the consequences of the bulk of their decisions.   
  
Very rarely were the Fates surprised. Perhaps once a millennia, an individual's thread acted in an unforeseen way. Yet it wasn't the individuals that a mortal would suspect of being different. The carpenter, or that failed artist, was not unexpected. The Fates knew, to the barest sliver of thread, the exact moment at which to cut.  
  
But every thousand years or so, the Fates were truly surprised. And it happened on May 20, 2003, according to one mortal system of time keeping.  
  
At the first sign of unusualness, the Fates had summoned the Powers that Be and began the usual procedures to resolve the situation. On this particular occasion, the oddity was the sudden dulling of Atropos' razor-sharp shears. She attempted several times to cut the thread at the indicated point, yet she could not. Finally sighing, she called work to a halt and beckoned to her sisters.   
  
"Well, that tears it--metaphorically speaking. Looks like we've got this millennia's oddball."  
  
Lachesis sighed as well. "That one was tough for me to nail down. Guess there's something working behind the scenes to keep the sucker around. Poor soul, it's been through more than its share of grief."  
  
Clotho gazed at her spun handiwork. "It's a delicate-looking thread, but with more strength than you could possibly imagine. I had a feeling when I was spinning, you know, just like last time, with that sweet girl who gave us all that trouble in the eleventh century--remember her?"  
  
Atropos rolled her eyes. "Sweet, she wasn't. Made things a right mess, bouncing back and forth around the known mortal world as she did. Besides, Clotho, if you remembered this feeling, why didn't you give us some kind of warning? But oh, no, it's always got to be Atropos' fault when something goes pear-shaped."  
  
Clotho flushed and started saying, "Now wait a minute . . ." when the Powers made its appearance, moving towards them. Lachesis, like so many middle siblings the peacemaker, stepped towards the Powers. "Report on the soul whose fate is unknown even to us."  
  
Today, the Powers had taken the form of one of their messengers, a slightly built man with dark hair. "Well, darlings," he commented in his Irish accent, "it's not one I would have expected to cause this much trouble. Or, at least, not this kind of trouble."  
  
Atropos, never very patient, spat out, "Cease your riddles, messenger. What is the nature of this soul?"  
  
The messenger raised his hands. "No need to get testy. Catch more flies with honey, if you know what I mean. Anyway," said the Powers, "the soul in question has answered to many names, and has seen much of both good and bad. It has had a long journey, with much suffering, and all because of love. If you want my opinion, I think the Big One is getting romantic in old age, wants to test that 'love conquers all' theory."  
  
Clotho sighed. "How interesting! To think of living your life and suffering, all for love."  
  
Atropos rolled her eyes again. "Well, it's not in the same league as eradicating pestilence or being a source of creative inspiration for the greatest artist ever, but if this is the soul with the contested fate, that's that. What guidance does the Powers give in this matter?"  
  
The Powers scratched his forehead, causing his hat to ride back on his head. "I'm of two minds on this one. Part of me says the privilege of continuing its life should be granted to this soul. But the rest of me says to let the poor bastard get some rest. After the suffering I witnessed, I wouldn't wish a return to that on a dog who'd stolen my last bottle of whiskey."  
  
"A charming image," commented Lachesis dryly. "What guidance does the Great One provide in this matter?"  
  
The Powers grinned. "Old gal wants to send the soul back. Things were finally going all right for the poor lamb; if it hadn't been for the pesky self-sacrifice, the soul would have finally gotten its most-hoped desire: the love of one that it loved. Of course, the soul's currently cooling its jets in Limbo, but it would head on to its respective Valhalla if Grumpy Girl could have made with the click-clack snippety-snip." At that, the messenger doffed his hat to Atropos, who would have retorted with her sharp wit if the messenger hadn't continued.  
  
"This one's a pickle, ladies, and I don't envy you the deciding of it. But I'll leave you with one further word on the matter. The newly requited love of the soul in question? That soul cries for our troublemaker, and is equally deserving of reward. So you've really got two souls, not one, in your hands." And with that, the messenger winked at Atropos and vanished out of their presence.  
  
"I hate that being," grumbled Atropos. "Much too forward."  
  
"I think you hate him because otherwise you'd like him," teased Clotho.  
  
Before this argument could get started--she had seen a similar one that had raged on for a century and a half--Lachesis brought their attention back to the matter at hand. "So, we're being guilt-tripped into sending this soul back, to fulfill the air-quotes Great One's need for a new soap opera. But I object to letting any soul return to suffer, especially when it would go straight to heaven otherwise, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Your thoughts, sisters?"  
  
"Was this soul last in a male or female body? Because if it was a guy, I say send him back. Heaven doesn't need another corner full of Playmates and beer cans," asked Atropos tartly.  
  
"Oh, Atropos, you're getting so bitter. Why can't we let it stay? A heavenly reward would be only fitting."  
  
"And you're getting too sweet, Clotho. Thank goodness we have Lachesis to balance things out," Atropos said.  
  
Lachesis nearly threw up her hands and howled. Why did she get stuck making all the decisions? She never even got the funny lines, either.  
  
"All right, all right. Give me a minute," she told her squabbling sisters. She moved away, to her favorite part of the grove, and stared into the shimmering waters of the small stream that cut through this spot. Lachesis closed her eyes, and concentrated.   
  
And when she opened her eyes, she had the answer.  
  
"I propose a compromise. Send the soul back, but with memories erased but personality intact. The soul will return to a comparable moment in the life it was removed from, but with a different life to inform its choices. We shall have to see if the pull between the two souls is great enough to allow them to re-connect without our intervention. Agreed?"  
  
Atropos nodded, her arms folded across her chest. Clotho clasped her hands in front of her face with a dreamy smile before saying, "Perfect!" And as Lachesis re-measured the disputed thread, she allowed herself a moment of satisfaction.   
  
It was the perfect solution.  
  
End, Prologue 


	2. One: My Heart Going BoomBoomBoom

What is Choice?  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.  
  
Spoilers: Through Chosen.   
  
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).  
  
Chapter title from Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill."  
  
Chapter One: My Heart Going Boom-Boom-Boom  
  
Another beautiful day was dawning in the east. The sun rose and filled his rooms with light. The sound of the ocean drifted in through the open windows. The breeze brought the tang of salt and tropical flowers into the airy, open house.  
  
Yet Will Smythe noticed none of this as he blearily stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, a shower the only plan his sleep-addled brain could grasp.  
  
When he emerged fifteen minutes later, he was better prepared to face the coffee maker and the morning paper. Will took his paper and his coffee out on the balcony that overlooked the waters of the Pacific. For as long as he could remember, he had loved sunlight and the outdoors, and breathing fresh air did as much to wake him up as all his other morning rituals.  
  
Will sipped and flipped, while part of his mind debated what to do today. It was Saturday; he had just finished his latest project at work, so for once, his weekend was relatively his own. He had thought about visiting his mother in Los Angeles, but he felt rather stay-at-home right now. True, LA was not that far from San Diego, but a transplanted Brit like himself still quailed sometimes at California freeways.  
  
He probably would call his buddy Rich and find out what was happening tonight. Rich always knew what was going on within their group. Who wanted to celebrate, who needed to forget, who felt like club hopping and who wanted to host movie night.  
  
He gazed out towards the ocean as he drank the last of his coffee, letting his thoughts wander. He wasn't really much for introspection, but something about the way his life was going was making him more contemplative lately.  
  
At the ripe old age of 27, Will Smythe had a good career, working for a local college in their public relations office. However, the job was mostly a way to pay bills until he could write full-time. Writing was his real love. He had written some short stories that had been published in well-known magazines, and he was working on a few new ideas, one of which he hoped could develop into a novel.  
  
He lived in a small but comfortable house near the ocean. His mother, to whom he was very close, lived in near enough to visit, but far enough away to prevent embarrassing drop-in visits. He had a good circle of friends, dated relatively often, and had even been in love once or twice.   
  
Yet lately, he had felt a niggling sense of . . . dissatisfaction with his life. Like there was something out there, just beyond his reach. Something sparkling, that was bigger than his simple life, that would make him a different man when it was all said and done.  
  
But he didn't have the foggiest idea of what he was looking for.  
  
"Right annoying, that," he muttered to himself, just as the phone rang. He walked inside and picked up the phone, cradling it against his ear as he washed out his coffee mug.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey, Limey. Up for some good deeds tonight?"  
  
Will smiled at the sound of his friend's voice. "You're psychic, Rich. Was just thinking about calling you. Good deeds? I hope a parole officer, a thick Croatian accent, and a man named Tiny aren't involved in this."  
  
Rich laughed. The two of them had met at an alumni function at the college Will worked at; Rich had graduated from there five years before, but had just finished his master's degree at the time of the function. One of their more memorable nights out had involved a run-in with the law and some community service. Although Will gave as good as he got, he never failed to remind his friend that the events of that night had been instigated by Rich.  
  
"Nah, not this time. I've got a buddy of mine down visiting, with one of his friends, and we're all getting together tonight. Wanna join us for some dinner?"  
  
"And chance your cooking?"  
  
"What's wrong with it?" Rich asked, his voice huffy.  
  
"Oh, nothing, if you like blackened macaroni and cheese," Will retorted, his voice teasing.  
  
  
  
Rich humphed. "I'll have you know that Rosie is cooking tonight," he said, referring to his girlfriend. "See if I put in a good word for you with Xander's very single, very gorgeous, friend of the female persuasion."  
  
"Don't need a good word when you've got all this British charm," Will said with a grin.  
  
"Well, what you call charm, I call the reason us Colonials revolted. And trust me, you'd need the good word. This girl is a babe, beating off guys with a stick. I speak from experience; Xander tried to set us up once, but nothing clicked. Besides, it's not like you're Mr. Stud. You haven't seen anyone seriously since what's-her-name; you know, the flake?"  
  
"Melody," Will said with a grimace. "I wouldn't say that was serious--more like punishment for me."  
  
"I never got that--you, Mr. Commitment, having a fling that was all about sex."  
  
"Not proud of it, but it's done," Will said, hoping that Rich would move on.  
  
Rich obviously had flunked the Mind Reading 101 class, because he said, "I mean, you spent years and years with Drusilla, why I don't know. That girl was a nutcase. And when you finally get free of her clutches, you go for someone who's just as big a nutcase, only blonde and a lot more shallow."  
  
"New topic," Will growled. "And as I'm well-acquainted with your romantic history, I doubt either of us is in a position to throw stones."  
  
"Too true," Rich said, seeming to finally get the message. "All right, can I count on you tonight? It'll be a nice, quiet, pressure-free night, I promise."  
  
"Sure, Rich. See you at your place, when, around seven?"  
  
"Sounds good. Oh, and bring dessert."  
  
"What the bloody hell for?"  
  
"Women love it when a guy brings dessert. It's the modern equivalent to killing the woolly mammoth and dragging it back to the cave. Plus, much neater."  
  
Will sighed but agreed. "I doubt it, but I'll rustle something up. See you tonight."  
  
Will hung up the phone, pondering Rich's words. It was true that lately, relationships hadn't been a priority for him. After he had finally managed to convince Melody that it was over between them, he hadn't thought much about dating. But that had been four months ago, and most guys would have already been back in the saddle.   
  
He went back outside, wanting to spend some time just staring at the ocean that flowed towards the beach. As he gazed at the water, thinking about Drusilla, he sighed, feeling that same mixture of sadness, shame, and embarrassment he always experienced when he thought back to the years he'd spent with her.  
  
He had met Drusilla when he was 16, and had fallen head over heels for her. Nothing that anyone said could convince him that she was anything but his dark girl, his princess. At eighteen, she was older than him, and had opened his eyes to things he'd never considered, experiences he never thought he'd have. With her, he'd explored London's clubs, discovered punk rock, and learned the joys of fighting.   
  
He shook his head. Dru loved to start fights; she'd lead on a guy, and then when he tried something, she'd yell for her "sweet Will" to save her. Of course, being the stupid guy he was, he always jumped in, swinging away. She always seemed to go after the rugby player type, so he'd learned quickly which punches hurt the most, and what dirty tricks to use to level the playing field.   
  
It was in one of those fights that he'd received the distinctive eyebrow scar he still carried today. And it was that fight, which ended up with him in hospital with pending charges of assault hanging over his head, that made his mother insist that he come with her when she moved to California.  
  
He had resisted mightily. By that point, he was eighteen, and he couldn't bear the thought of leaving Drusilla. But his mother had begged him to go with her, and considering her medical condition, Will realized that he owed a greater responsibility to his mother, his only family. So even though he hated it, he told Dru that he was moving to America with his mother.  
  
She hadn't taken it well. Her quirky personality always made him unsure of how she'd react when he disagreed with her. This time, she had merely accepted his decision, promising to stay in touch with him. He had been surprised, but happy that she seemed able to understand why he had to leave.  
  
Of course, once he got to California, her behavior made him wish they had broken up. She'd call him at two in the morning, sobbing about how much she missed him, how lonely she was. She pleaded with him to find a way to bring her over, so she could stay with him. She said she missed him too much to stay apart from him.  
  
He was still in love with her. His mother's condition had improved, but she was planning on staying in the United States anyway, and had even gone so far as to discuss becoming a US citizen. He had actually started trying to figure out when he could go back and visit Drusilla, and tell her that soon he'd be home for good.   
  
And then she had shown up on his doorstep one day, cooing that "Mommy had come for her darling dangerous boy." At first, he had been thrilled that she had come, had shown him that she loved him.  
  
Will's mouth twisted as he remembered that time. Oh, yeah, she had loved him. Loved him enough to cheat on him while she was staying with him, even bringing guys back to the apartment they were sharing. When he had found out, he had gone crazy, trashing the apartment and throwing all her things out into the street.   
  
When she had returned that evening, she was calm and matter-of-fact about his anger. "I had wanted us to be together again, Will my love, but I can taste the other one on your lips."  
  
Will had screamed at her that it wasn't him that was screwing around in the relationship, so what the hell was she talking about. But she hadn't answered, merely picked up her things and left.   
  
Yet despite all his anger, she had been like a drug for him. She'd pop up in his life again for a week or two, and they'd go right back to wild shagging and nights out in dirty bars. A year ago, though, Dru had decided to go back to England, but he didn't even let her ask him to come with her. He was tired of the toxicity of their relationship. Tired of feeling used, tired of feeling out of control. Tired of feeling second best. He let her go, with sadness but not regret. She had opened his eyes to a new world, but he realized that he no longer wanted to share that world with her.   
  
She had seemed to understand, once again mentioning that other one. He had just chalked it up as one of Dru's fancies, and had put it out of his head. Lately, though, her words had been rumbling around inside his head, rubbing up against some ideas he had for a book.   
  
He straightened up from the hunched-over position he had taken, leaning over the railing, and went inside the house. After all that brooding, he felt a need to do something more proactive, even if it was writing. He decided to put in a few hours writing, before he worried about a few chores that needed doing.   
  
Grabbing a bottle of water and an apple, he headed into his closet-sized study. What it lacked in size, it made up for with the window that looked out at the beach and ocean. He had placed his desk in front of this view, and quite a few ideas had come to him while gazing at the water and people-watching.   
  
Will fired up his computer and opened up his idea file. He read over the various notes he had made for each idea. He frowned a bit as he reviewed things. In the past, he had written in a manner that had been described by carping critics as "florid" and "overdone." Yet he had managed to restrain most of his excesses, and his work had found enough admirers.  
  
Lately, though, he had noticed that his style seemed to be shifting. Now, it was a bit more terse, more focused on observations of human nature versus reflections on beauty and other ideals. Oh, the delight in beauty and nature still came through, but as if a veil had been pulled over the concepts, giving shadow to sunshine thoughts. Will didn't really understand how it was happening, but it was invigorating to see this shift, and calculate how to best work within this new world.  
  
"At least that wanker from The New Yorker won't say I've sacrificed another goat to become the prose incarnation of Wordsworth," Will muttered, still upset over a review he had received for a collection of his short stories that had been published last year.  
  
Will perused the ideas one more time, before closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. He focused on the various threads of stories, before grabbing hold of one. With a nod, he opened his eyes and fired up his word processor. The cursor blinked at him, and he paused for a moment, before letting his fingers fly across the keyboard.  
  
When I was fifteen, a man came to me and told me I had a destiny. I was fated to play a critical role in fighting evil. Naturally, I didn't believe him. I was more likely to lead the fight against no homework, or attend a rally for year-round school. The closest I'd gotten to evil were the three football players who harassed me once a week. I was their "good luck charm" that ensured a win every week. The man wasn't dissuaded by my protests. He merely said, "Luke, haven't you noticed the strength? The reflexes? The dreams?"  
  
As Will wrote, the part of his brain not occupied with plot and character marveled at how the words flowed. It wasn't often that the story flowed like water from a faucet, but this was definitely one of those times. Disregarding everything, he kept writing, until he had paused to stretch his cramped fingers, and noticed the time.  
  
"Five bloody PM? Bollocks!" Will shouted, as he quickly saved his work and jumped from the computer. He ran into the bathroom and groaned at the image presented. His sandy brown hair, which he normally kept slicked back, had dried into a giant puff of curls. His eyes were watering from staring at the computer, and the stubble shadowing his jaw made him look drunk, not rakishly handsome. Filling the sink with water and grabbing his razor, he mumbled, "Don't know how Wes pulls it off," thinking of his cousin who could pull off the stubble look.  
  
Beard dealt with, Will snatched up a comb and gel to tackle the hair, but he knew it was a losing battle. He gave it a half-hearted try, then gave up and settled for at least reducing some of the poodle qualities. He ended up with a head full of curls, but at least they had a sexy bedhair aspect, he thought to himself. At least, that was what he was hoping. A quick scrub of the teeth, and he headed into his bedroom to dress.   
  
Throwing open his closet, he congratulated himself for doing laundry last weekend. Pulling out a pair of gray slacks and a long-sleeved blue tee, he dressed, slipped his feet into some shoes, and headed back into the bathroom. Some cologne and he was done.  
  
Will sighed as he glanced at his wristwatch, hunting for his wallet and keys. 5:45, and there still was dessert to take care of.  
  
"It's not like a date, you poof. Calm down," he reminded himself as he headed out of his house and got into his car. "It's just dinner with a bunch of people."  
  
Despite what he said, Will still felt a touch of nervous energy. He tapped his hands against the steering wheel as he drove, and took a few corners a bit tighter than normal. Probably it was just the high of a good day of writing, but Will felt like this night was special, important. He felt like the stars were pouring their energy into him, making him shine like sunlight. It was a good feeling. He wanted to keep feeling this way.  
  
He got a cheesecake from a bakery near Rich's house, and even gave into his impulse to buy flowers. Rich, lazy slob that he was, probably had barely cleaned, but nothing distracted the eyes like flowers.  
  
Will chuckled at the turn his thoughts had taken, wondering if he had been watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy a tad too much. But even his self-deprecation couldn't prevent the minor case of butterflies in his stomach as he pulled into the parking lot outside Rich's condo. He paused before leaving the car, taking a few deep breaths. Despite outward appearances, he had a definite shy bent, and meeting new people sometimes threw him for a loop. But Will rolled his head and tapped back into his buzz as he exited the car.  
  
He juggled the bakery box and the flowers as he drew up to Rich's door, and managed to press the bell. When no one opened the door after a few moments, he banged his foot against the door and yelled, "Come on, you pillock, man with dessert out here!"  
  
And then the door opened, and he felt like he wasn't just getting energy from the stars, but was among them in the heavens.  
  
End, Chapter One 


	3. Two: Down to the Earth I Fell

What is Choice?  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.  
  
Spoilers: Through Chosen.   
  
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).  
  
The use of Neruda in this chapter is intended as a shout-out to Wisteria, Annie Sewell-Jennings, and all the authors who have used his works so beautifully in describing Buffy and Spike.  
  
This chapter's title comes from "Tonight and the Rest of My Life," by Nina Gordon.  
  
Chapter Two: Down To the Earth I Fell  
  
Buffy Summers, retired Slayer and newest employee of Nordstrom's, was trying very hard to remember that hitting first and maybe asking questions later only worked when you were a Slayer. Doing Slayer-type tasks. Not when you were dealing with society matrons trying to cram their over-ample bottoms into sequined gowns.  
  
Not that LA had many fat matrons. But they all seemed to come to Buffy to be sold the latest in expensive eveningwear.  
  
Buffy sighed, and looked into the fitting room mirror. Her stylish yet professional look screamed boring. Her feet were killing her, she was starving to death, and her forehead seemed to be permanently puckered.  
  
Buffy mused that if anyone would have told her that she'd miss the First Evil someday, she'd have told them they were crazy.  
  
Rather than continuing that line of thought, Buffy blew her hair out of her eyes and asked, "Now, Mrs. Goddard, how do you like this one? I think the green bugle beads brings out your eyes beautifully."  
  
"My eyes are brown!" snapped the short-waisted, large-bosomed woman.  
  
"Of course they are, Mrs. Goddard. But the green offsets your eyes so nicely, gives you an air of mystery . . ." she trailed off, thinking privately that as this dress was the only one that might possibly fit the shrill harpy, she had to do her best to sell Mrs. Goddard on this dress. Because Buffy needed the commission.  
  
Rebuilding your life-literally-was even more difficult than Buffy would have imagined. All her possessions, gone. Anything she had owned of any value, from sentimental to monetary, was currently resting in a crater that used to be a thriving small town, albeit one with a mystical portal to Hell. Pretty tough to get a job when you couldn't even prove you existed.  
  
Thank goodness for the new Watcher's Council. Giles had cleared up some funds, Willow had wriggled her nose a few times, and voila, they all had their identities back. Giles had also freed up enough cash-he'd called it back pay-to permit her to take care of Dawn, fix up a small apartment for the two of them, and give them some savings.  
  
Now, Dawn was in school and doing well. She had an afterschool job, and a nice bunch of friends, including a couple of guys who were noticing the grace and maturity of her "little" sister. Buffy was so proud of her. Seeing Dawn's progress always lifted her heart and made her thankful for her sister.  
  
But for Buffy herself, things seemed to go less well. She couldn't explain it, but the "normal" life she had craved-a job, college classes, time with her friends-now seemed so lackluster after that last battle. Of course, she wasn't prepared to admit that to herself, so Buffy did her best in various jobs, looking for something that excited her. She bounced from barrista to library page to telemarketer to temporary office worker. She was hoping this job at Nordstrom's would work out; they had been very flexible with her hours, the pay was good, and once upon a time, being surrounded by all these clothes would have been her idea of heaven.  
  
Buffy was pulled away from such musings by Mrs. Goddard's voice. "Now, Muffy, I need this dress for the Fire & Ice Ball next week. Can it be altered in time?"  
  
Buffy put on her best 'the customer is always right' face. "Certainly, Mrs. Goddard. And you'll look stunning in this gown."  
  
Mrs. Goddard, once back in her comfortable muumuu, was like a different person. She smiled and patted Buffy's cheek. "You're such a sweet girl for saying such nice things to a foolish old woman like me. My Drew probably won't notice the dress at all. It's not like when we were first married, and his eyes lit up when I walked in the room. But then, I'm sure your young man's eyes do that for you, my dear."  
  
Buffy paused in her work, trying not to think about the stab of sadness that went through her at those words. There had been really only two young men in her past, not counting that stupid fling with Parker. And while she had good relationships with both Angel and Riley-for the most part-it was depressing to think that it had been so long since she'd dated, or even clicked with a guy enough for her to consider him in that kind of light. She made sure her smile was nice and bright, hoping it'd distract attention from the truth that was in her eyes. "There's no one in my life right now, but I got glowy eyes a few times, I do admit."  
  
Mrs. Goddard laughed as Buffy handed her back her credit card. "Oh, you're still a girl. You've got time to meet the right one-and when you do, it's like a thunderclap of the heart. That's how it was for my Drew and me." She smiled softly, then said goodbye.  
  
As Buffy watched her walk away, she couldn't help but wonder what a thunderclap of the heart felt like. She had been in love before, and had thought she was in love. Yet neither of the two experiences were ones she really cared to repeat.  
  
"I sure hope the thunderclaps bring good stuff as well as the lightning and danger," Buffy said to herself as she walked Mrs. Goddard's dress to Alterations.  
  
**  
  
Buffy let herself into the small apartment she shared with Dawn. She sighed a bit when she saw the ever-present mess, but moved on, hanging up her jacket and heading into the kitchen. It was only 4:30, but Buffy had a class tonight and she wanted to squeeze in a few more minutes of reading before she started making dinner.  
  
The apartment was quiet. Dawn was still at her job, so Buffy could fully concentrate on the poem she was trying to analyze. She was in her third semester at UCLA and was surprised to find how much better she was doing now, compared to her last try at college. Before, it had seemed like college was just something to fill the daytime hours when she couldn't Slay. Besides, there was little chance she'd ever really use her degree, so she hadn't worried too much about her grades. She'd done well, but she knew it was luck more than anything else. When she'd had to drop out, she hadn't felt a burning desire to return, except when she was in the depths of her post-resurrection depression.  
  
Yet now, Buffy felt so much more aware when she was in class. She realized she had always slighted her brain in favor of her body, so she sought to make things more equal by giving her brain some front-and-center time. So far, it had been working. While she'd never be the science nerd that Willow was, she had a strong knack for the humanities, and literature and history were two of her favorite classes. She knew Giles had always thought she had lived too much in the now, and she was beginning to agree with him. She wouldn't change her past for anything; she just wished that at that time, she'd been more aware of all the different kinds of 'then' rather than focusing so much on the 'now'. Slayer history, demon myths, vampire lore-she could have been a lot more effective with that knowledge.   
  
This semester, Buffy was taking a poetry class, and she was fascinated. It wasn't that different from the slang her friends had always talked in; it was just a matter of determining what the real meaning was, beyond the exact words. Poetry worked the same way.  
  
With a small sigh of contentment, Buffy opened her copy of Neruda and read the assigned poem.  
  
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,  
  
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.  
  
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.  
  
I love you as the plant that never blooms  
  
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;   
  
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,  
  
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.  
  
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.  
  
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;   
  
so I love you because I know no other way  
  
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,  
  
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,  
  
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.  
  
The words moved Buffy, in a way she couldn't quite figure out. It was almost like she had heard them before, had loved hearing them. Yet at the same time, she knew she hadn't heard them before. Buffy pushed aside the strange feeling and concentrated on the poem and its structure. She took a few notes before getting sucked in again by the power of the poem. She let her mind drift as she reread the lines over and over again.  
  
When the phone rang, she jumped in her seat, the shrill noise bringing her back to herself. She groaned as she realized it was 5:30 and she still hadn't eaten dinner. But old habits made her grab the phone as she pulled the refrigerator open. You never knew when you needed to rescue a friend from the demon who wanted to use them as bait to draw your attention.  
  
"Buffster, how's it going?"  
  
Buffy smiled at the cheerful voice of Xander. "Great, now that I'm talking to one of my favorite people in the world. I am also, though, running late. What's up?"  
  
"Well . . . "  
  
"Xander, short on time. Stop squirming and spill."  
  
"Well, General Buffy, I wanted to know if you wouldn't mind visiting lovely San Diego next weekend."  
  
Buffy mentally ran her schedule through her head. "That I could do. I'm not working Friday, although we'd need to come back early on Sunday, because I'm opening at work on Monday. What's the occasion?"  
  
"Rich invited me down for the weekend, and I thought you could use a bit of a vacation," Xander said.  
  
Buffy said nothing, and Xander sheepishly said, "And your driving scares me less than Rich's. Even with one eye, I could drive better than him."  
  
Buffy laughed, although she always felt a twinge when she thought about how Xander had received his injury. He could drive, but over time, he had found that it was easier to restrict his times behind the wheel to short trips. "The truth finally is revealed. I'd love to, Xan. I'll let Dawn know she can stay with a friend."  
  
"There's also Willow and Kennedy, or even Angel for that matter, if she can't work something out," Xander offered.  
  
Buffy grinned into the phone. "What? You're suggesting I let my whiny, phone hog brat of a sister impose upon Angel's Fortress of Solitude? I thought you'd gotten past your Angel hate, Xander."  
  
They both laughed, and Buffy said, "I'll call you later to work out the details. Gotta go."  
  
Buffy hung up the phone, a smile on her face. Xander was just what she needed when one of her dark moods seemed to be nipping at her heels. A weekend in San Diego with Rich and Xander would be fun, and maybe she could shake the persistent tingle of something missing in her life.  
  
She rolled her shoulders in frustration as she put together a sandwich for dinner. 'Maybe it's some Slayer thing,' she muttered to herself.  
  
But she knew it was more than that.  
  
**  
  
"Welcome, welcome, to the Casa de Rich," was Rich Brendan's greeting for Buffy when she and Xander arrived in San Diego. Xander and Rich knew each other from construction back in Sunnydale, back when there was something in Sunnydale to construct. It was actually pretty amazing that Rich and Xander were still friends, after the "interesting date" he had with Buffy during her never-ending birthday party. Rich had left, along with pretty much everyone else in Sunnydale, during the rise of the First Evil. He had headed to San Diego, and gotten his master's in computer science. His real love, though, seemed to be enjoying life.  
  
Buffy wondered what it was like to feel that young. At 24, she sometimes felt old and worn-out. Like there was nothing new to discover. She knew that being a Slayer made her more aware of the ugly side of life, but she wished she had managed to hang onto a little of her sense of wonder.  
  
Rich showed them around his place, pointing out the kitchen and bathroom before showing them the guest room, thankfully equipped with twin beds. Not that it would have mattered if they had to share; a long time ago, Xander had realized that there'd never be a relationship between the two of them. Thankfully, that realization had happened without an awkward scene.  
  
"So, Rich," Buffy said as they headed out to dinner, "what's the plan for the weekend?"  
  
"Glad you asked. I thought tomorrow we could just hang out on the beach, work on the tan, you know. For dinner, I was thinking about eating at my place, with a couple of people--Xander, I've told you about Will?"  
  
Xander nodded. "Your other best friend that I've never met."  
  
Rich laughed. "That's the one. I was going to drag him over here, so you could finally meet him. Oh, and of course Rosie will be here," he said, mentioning his girlfriend. "She'll probably be bringing her sister along, so we'll be all even, boy-girl wise. Then, you leave on Sunday, right?"  
  
"Yes, unfortunately," confirmed Buffy. "Work kinda insists that I'm there when I'm scheduled, so Nordstorm's will have one tired sales associate on Monday."  
  
"Trust me, we'll pack plenty of fun into the weekend," Rich said with a twinkle in his eyes.  
  
Rich was true to his words. Saturday was spent enjoying a typical beautiful California day. They headed back to Rich's house in the late afternoon to prepare dinner. Buffy took a quick shower to wash salt, sand, and suntan oil off, before picking out some clothes to wear. Thankfully, she had packed for any occurrence, and thus had a perfect outfit for "dinner with best friend, one of his friends, and several other people you've never met."  
  
Buffy dried her hair, let it hang around her shoulders, and applied a bit of makeup. Her favorite jeans and her cream-colored blouse fit well, showing off a body that was more rounded than it'd been in years. A combination of eating more than coffee and salads, and less exercise, had lead to her gaining a few pounds. But they didn't bother Buffy; she was probably the only woman in America happy to gain weight.  
  
Buffy smiled into the mirror. She was happy, even though she was bothered by those strange feelings. Tonight was about having fun, and that's what she wanted. Fun, excitement, something new in her life.  
  
As she stepped out of the bathroom, she spied Rich and Xander in the kitchen, helping Rosie with dinner. She headed there to help, but just as she crossed the threshold, the doorbell rang.  
  
"That must be Will," Rich remarked, his hands occupied with draining the pasta. "Buffy, could you let him in?"  
  
"Sure," she said as she headed for the hall.  
  
As she approached the door, Buffy heard a thud and then a voice shouting, " . . . man with dessert out here!" She yanked open the door, and felt her mouth drop open a bit.  
  
She thought to herself, 'Thunderclap!' as she gazed at the man standing on the doorstep.  
  
End, Chapter Two 


	4. Three: Get a Load of Me, Get a Load of Y...

What is Choice?  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.  
  
Spoilers: Through Chosen.   
  
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).  
  
This chapter's title is from "Why Can't I" by Liz Phair.  
  
Chapter Three: Get a Load of Me, Get a Load of You  
  
Will stared at the woman who had opened the door. How had Rich described her-gorgeous?  
  
Massive understatement. This girl was a vision. California blonde, curvy little body, and the biggest green eyes he'd ever seen.  
  
He opened his mouth, trying to find something-anything-to say to this woman, when she suddenly said, "You brought dessert?"  
  
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Buffy cringed. Standing in front of her was a cute-no, scratch that, amazingly gorgeous-man. Only a bit taller than her, he was lean and toned, with wild curly hair the color of honey and eyes the color of the sky. And the best thing she could do was comment on the bakery box in his arms?  
  
Thankfully, he must be used to women making fools of themselves over him, as he opened his mouth, closed it, and then spoke. "Um, yes. I love cheesecake."  
  
Will nearly rolled his eyes at such inanity. Where was that giant hole opening under his feet when he needed it?  
  
Buffy practically sighed when she heard his voice. Sexy voice plus accent equaled a happy Buffy. She broke out of her reverie when she realized he was looking at her as if he needed her to notice something. And she noticed he was still standing on the doorstep.  
  
"Oh! Can I help you carry something in?" she asked as she moved out of the doorway, letting him pass.  
  
"No, I've got everything. Everyone back in the kitchen?" he answered, moving down the hall.  
  
Rich's head popped out of the kitchen and looked down the hall. "Will! You bastard, bringing flowers too? All the women will be swooning at your feet, eager to turn you into their next fixer-upper."  
  
Buffy followed Will into the kitchen, where the good-natured joking was the only thing disturbing the pre-dinner lull. Rich had joined Xander, who was standing by the island watching Rosie toss a salad. Will dropped the bakery box and the flowers on the counter, kissed Rosie on the cheek, and held out his hand to Xander. "Xander, I take it?"  
  
Xander smiled, but Buffy could see he was a bit uneasy. But he grasped Will's hand and said, "Good to meet you finally. I can at last figure out the truth about that story Rich tells, about that time in Vegas?"  
  
Will burst out laughing, as Rich punched Xander in the shoulder. "Hey, not in front of my girl! I've been trying to convince her I've got nothing to hide."  
  
"Oh, I know you've got nothing to hide. Because I know everything," Rosie shot back.  
  
Rich smiled at his girlfriend, then said, "And of course you've met Buffy, Will."  
  
Buffy bit her bottom lip, trying not to be nervous. Will gazed at her for a moment, then smiled. "Yeah, we've met."  
  
"It's funny," Buffy said before she could stop herself, "but I feel like I know you somehow. Weird, isn't it?"  
  
Will cocked his head to one side in thought. "Yeah . . . it's bloody odd, but you seem familiar. In a I-don't-know-a-sodding-thing-about-you way, of course."  
  
Buffy laughed, and Will's smile changed to a grin. The others began moving around, taking dishes to the table, and Rosie pulled Buffy aside for her help. As they arranged some antipasto on a tray, Rosie said in a low voice, "My sister was supposed to come over too, so that no one would feel like they were stuck with someone. I was going to tell you that you didn't have to entertain Will if you didn't want to, but I don't think that's a problem, is it?"  
  
Buffy blushed a little, but shook her head.   
  
"Good," Rosie said with a smile. "Especially since Will is staring at you now."  
  
Buffy's head whipped around, and found Will's eyes locked on her. She raised her eyebrow, but then smiled at him. He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, 'Well, you know now,' before he winked at her. As Buffy picked up one of the platters, she thought to herself, 'Can't get much more interesting than this . . .'  
  
**  
  
Will was beginning to revise his long-held disbelief in love at first sight. He still didn't believe in it, but he sure understood how someone could think they had fallen in love with just one look.  
  
For a few minutes, he had been worried that Buffy was a bit of a walking stereotype. Sure, she was beautiful, but she seemed to have the brains of a fruit-fly. He was never so thankful to be proven wrong. During dinner, she had seemed more at ease, and he quickly found that Buffy was smart, witty, and knew her way around a quip. At one point, when they had been snarking back and forth, he had caught Rich giving Rosie a look. Making a mental note to talk to him later, Will turned to Xander.  
  
"So, you've known Rich long?"  
  
Xander nodded. "We worked together in construction for a while, back in Sunnydale."  
  
Will wrinkled his brow. "Sunnydale? Didn't some disaster happen there?"  
  
Xander snorted. "Disaster is one way to put it. I call it the whole town getting sucked into a giant hole."  
  
"Jesus," Will said.  
  
"Oh, yeah," Xander said, his voice equal parts bitterness and sadness.  
  
Will searched for something else to say, and finally asked the question he had wanted to ask from the beginning. "So, have you known Buffy long?"  
  
Xander turned his head, to see Will more clearly. Then he smiled. "Ah, yes. The Buffinator strikes again."  
  
Will ducked his head, but kept his tone serious. "Just makin' conversation, mate."  
  
"Sure, mate," Xander said with a grin. "Anyway, I've known Buffy for . . . God, nearly ten years. Hey, Buff," Xander said, drawing Buffy out of her conversation with Rich and Rosie. "Can you believe we've known each other almost ten years?"  
  
Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Gosh, that is amazing. Especially since I can't stand you."  
  
"Ha, ha, very funny." Xander stuck his tongue out at Buffy, which she did in return. She rolled her eyes, then grinned at Will.  
  
Will grinned back, feeling that giddy buzz from earlier strengthen. 'This girl is perfect,' he thought to himself.  
  
**  
  
Buffy rested her elbows on the railings of the patio and leaned forward, staring at the ocean. The evening had been so . . . amazing. She was almost scared because things had gone so well tonight. She was afraid that this feeling couldn't last.  
  
She heard the door slide open, and she looked over her shoulder to see Will step outside. She smiled at him. "Hey."  
  
"Hey, yourself," he said. "Mind if I smoke?"  
  
She shook her head, and he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She watched as he cupped his hands around the cigarette, the flame lighting up his face for a moment.  
  
'Beautiful,' she thought to herself.  
  
He inhaled, and released the smoke with a sigh. "Keep telling myself that I'll quit one of these days. Too bloody hard to smoke in California, anyway."  
  
She turned and faced him, her back resting against the railing. "How long have you lived here?"  
  
"Oh, 'bout ten years or so. Came over with my mother right before I started college. As old-fashioned as it sounds, her doctors told her to come to California for her health, and I came with her."  
  
"Did it help?" Buffy asked, thinking of her own mother and her unexpected death.  
  
"Completely. She's a new woman now."  
  
"I'm glad," Buffy said softly.  
  
Will looked at her from underneath his brows. It was an intense look, like he was trying to see inside her head and figure out what made her tick.  
  
No one had ever looked at her that intently. She nearly shivered from the emotion that surged through her.  
  
'Why is this happening?' she wondered silently. Ever since she had been brought back, she had experienced trouble connecting with people, even her nearest and dearest. It had gotten easier once the First had been defeated, and the burden of Slaying had been lifted from her shoulders. But it was still difficult to give into her emotions. Yet this man, who she had met only two hours ago, made her feel like a giddy girl. It was odd, not what she was used to, terrifying, and completely exciting.  
  
Feeling a bit on edge, she tried to push aside the potent silence and return to the safety of small talk. "So what do you do?"  
  
Will shook his head, flicking the butt of his cigarette onto the sand just beyond the patio. "None of that chit-chat, if you don't mind. Why don't we ask questions that really matter? Like what was the last thing you read that really touched you? Who was the last person you said 'I love you' to? What do you want to be able to do at 50?"  
  
She gazed at him, both irritated and intrigued by his argument. "What's wrong with small talk?"  
  
Will frowned. "Everything, if you ask me. 'Where do you work?', 'What's your favorite food?', blah blah blah. If I care enough about a person that I'm going to ask them questions, I want the questions to mean something. Let me see how they think, and what they want."  
  
Buffy folded her arms across her chest. "But with small talk, you're not paying attention to the questions or the answers. I may be saying, 'What do you do?' but I mean, 'What inspires and excites you?' I can ask where you grew up because I'm hoping we have that in common." She smiled, and stepped closer to him. "And there's the questions you ask without saying a word."  
  
Will's smile grew more flirtatious, his voice deeper, when he replied. "Yeah? So if you step closer, and I step even closer?"  
  
"A question and an answer," Buffy said, wondering how far this would go, how far she wanted it to go, and damn it, they shouldn't be overlapping goals! Throwing yourself at nice men who seemed interested in you only makes you look pathetic, she counseled herself.  
  
She was sure she could keep everything together, until he said, "And if I . . ."  
  
And Buffy realized, as she found her eyes staring at his chest, that he had wrapped his arm around her waist.  
  
'God, she feels good,' Will thought as her body came in contact with his. Warm, soft, with a fragrance of flowers and vanilla, she felt really, really good pressed against him lightly. He let his hand move over her lower back, lightly touching her.  
  
She seemed a bit dazed by it all, but he watched her pull herself together. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips, and he barely stifled a small groan.  
  
In a slightly quivery voice, she said, "The fact that I'm not pushing you away could be construed as an answer."  
  
He smiled at her, bringing one hand up to cup her cheek. God, she was adorable. "And such big words, too. Very impressive."  
  
Buffy's head jerked up, and she glared at him. "Are you saying you think I'm stupid?"  
  
Will felt his jaw drop open. "Wha-huh?" he said, too flustered by her accusation, and then by the loss of her body as she pulled out of his arms.  
  
"You know, I'm not a dumb blonde. Well, not a natural blonde, either, but that's beside the point!" she exclaimed, pointing her finger at him. She started pacing back and forth, and he could only watch and listen as his brain tried to catch up.  
  
"I'm not just some silly ditz without a care in the world, you know. I've been raising my sister by myself for three years! The town I lived in was sucked up by a Hell . . . hole, and I lost everything! I'm taking classes at UCLA, and my professors are dazzled by my brilliance!"  
  
Buffy paused, and Will quickly tried to apologize. "Buffy, love, I didn't mean anything by it. I was impressed. I couldn't have come out with 'construed' with the way I was feeling."  
  
She stopped pacing, and turned to look at him. "Impressed?"  
  
He stepped forward, knowing how to grab an opening. "Really, really impressed."  
  
Buffy dropped her eyes, and flushed a bit. When she looked up, her voice was apologetic. "I'm so sorry. You kinda hit one of my buttons there, completely by accident. I shouldn't have dumped that all on you."  
  
Will smiled, and gave in to the urge to run his fingers through her hair. "Apology accepted, Buffy." He let his hand linger in his hair one more time, and she stepped closer, until she was only a breath away.  
  
Then, he couldn't resist. "Although I do admit I'd rather be pushin' some of your other buttons." And before she could say a word, or do more than open her mouth to fire back some quip, he kissed her.  
  
'Oh . . . wait, I'm supposed to be mad at him . . . mmm . . .' Buffy thought before she gave up and focused on his lips. Warm, soft lips that were currently pressing and sliding against hers.  
  
'Sweet and spicy,' was all Will managed to think before he let his emotions take over. His hands moved on autopilot, seeking out all the places that felt good and made her feel good. He drew her tongue into his mouth, and he wondered if this was what heaven tasted like.  
  
Buffy really, really liked kissing him. He was so good at it, and his mouth seemed designed to kiss her. She sighed, and reached up, letting her hands wrap around his neck and play with the curls she found there.   
  
Just as she was mulling the necessary but unhappy concept of pausing for breath, she thought she heard something. When she heard another noise, she managed to pull back a bit from Will, enough that the spell was momentarily broken.  
  
She turned, and glared at Xander, who stood half-in and half-out the door.  
  
"Um, sorry," Xander said. "Um, Rich is going to go to Rosie's place, and I was going to . . . go get some ice cream! Yeah, so if you guys wondered where I was, when, you know, you weren't, um, well, you know." With that, he scurried back inside the house, shutting the door behind him.  
  
Buffy looked at Will. Will looked at Buffy. They both burst out in giggles. "Xander's a very considerate friend," Will managed to say.  
  
Buffy kept laughing, resting her forehead against his chest. "It's temporary insanity, I think. He normally plays the big-brother role to the extreme. He must like you."  
  
Will grinned at her. "Right now, I'm not worrying about if he likes me . . ." he said, trailing off as he moved closer for another kiss.  
  
This kiss was slower, sweeter, but also sultrier. Their tongues moved against each other's languidly, and when they finished the kiss, Will let his forehead rest against hers.  
  
Buffy let out a small sigh, and Will mimicked her. He then squeezed her waist, and said, "Love, I know you're leaving tomorrow, but I really want to see you again. No rushing, you know what I mean?"  
  
Buffy pulled back, and looked at him. She dropped a kiss on his lips. "You're something else. Can't think of many guys who wouldn't want to rush."  
  
Will pulled her back against him. "I'm not one to hurry for the finish line, since I like all the stopping points along the way. I'm about endurance," he said. Then, he smirked at her, a knee-shaking, heart-pounding smirk. "In more ways than one."  
  
She grinned at him. "A bad boy, you are," placing another quick kiss on his mouth before pulling away somewhat. She knew if she didn't get a little distance, right now, they'd both be naked, right now.  
  
He shook his head with a laugh. "Hardly, love," he said, before he took her hand in his and pulled her inside the house.  
  
Inside, they found that they were alone, but not wanting to tempt the fates, they merely smiled at each other. Will went to a desk, located in a corner of the room, and dug out a pad of paper and a pen. He wrote something, and then gave it to Buffy, who had joined him at his side.  
  
"Cell, home phone, and email," he said, pointing to each set of numbers or letters.  
  
She smiled at him, and scribbled down her own info. Their fingers lingered when she handed him the slip of paper, and it seemed so natural to walk to the front door, holding hands.  
  
"I'll call you tomorrow, when Xander and I get back," she said, leaning against the door. "I had a wonderful time tonight."  
  
Will leaned forward, bracing himself with one hand against the door. "So did I, love. So glad I took Rich up on his invitation."  
  
He bent down, and kissed her once, sweetly. Then he smiled and slipped out the door.  
  
Buffy headed back into the living room, and sat down on the couch. She brought her fingers up to her mouth. Her lips felt a bit swollen, a sure sign of being well-kissed.  
  
"Well-kissed indeed," Buffy said to herself with a happy sigh.  
  
Outside the condo, Will leaned against his car for a minute, staring at the window in Rich's living room. He could see Buffy, and he saw her bring her hand to her mouth. He grinned, before he touched his own fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss.  
  
"Just the beginning, love," he said aloud, before he got into his car and dreamily drove home.  
  
End, Chapter Three 


	5. Four: Ever Since We Met

What is Choice?  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.  
  
Spoilers: Through Chosen.   
  
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).  
  
Song lyric in the chapter title is "I Only Wanna Be With You," as performed by Dusty Springfield.   
  
Chapter Four: Ever Since We Met You've Had a Hold On Me  
  
Buffy burst through the door of her apartment, a whirl of motion and energy. The drive from San Diego had seemed to take forever, and then she had to take care of some errands, including picking Dawn up from her friend's house. But she was home now, and she dove for the phone.  
  
"Sheesh," Dawn commented, following her sister into the apartment. "You're entirely too peppy. What happened to you this weekend?"  
  
Buffy turned towards Dawn, the cordless phone tucked against her shoulder as she dug through her purse for Will's number. "I have no idea what you mean, Dawn. I just have to make a phone call."  
  
"Right," Dawn said. "A phone call . . . to a guy," she teased in a sing-song voice.  
  
Buffy stopped digging and stared at her sister. "Huh? How'd you guess?"  
  
Dawn snorted. "Please. Seen this two times before, and heard your stories about that guy in college. Although I've never seen it this bad. I hope he's really cute."  
  
Buffy grinned. "Gorgeous. And now I'm going to call him, from my room. You're on your own for dinner."  
  
Dawn looked puzzled. "Buffy, it's only two o'clock in the afternoon. You've never talked on the phone that long, even pre-Slayer."  
  
"First time for everything, sister dear." Buffy giggled and dashed into her room, leaving a shocked Dawn behind.   
  
Buffy dropped her bags on the floor, and flopped down on the bed. But instead of punching in Will's number, she paused, gazing at the piece of paper she held in her hand.   
  
"What am I doing?" she asked herself aloud. Dawn was right--she'd never been this giddy over a guy before, even when she was fourteen and finally caught the attention of what's-his-name, the guy that every girl in school had wanted.   
  
She had barely known Will for a few hours, yet she had engaged in a serious liplock and some heavy-duty relationship discussion, if only vaguely. Ever since Angel, she hadn't been one to jump in feet-first; her experience with Parker had only confirmed the fact that chemistry wasn't enough to build a relationship. Of course, chemistry was good, seeing as how she'd had none with Riley. Even though he had been a nice guy, and what any sane girl should want in a boyfriend, he hadn't excited her.   
  
Buffy sighed, and blew her bangs out of her eyes. There was no reason to freak out, yet. Sure, they had done some kissing, but it wasn't like she had anything to be ashamed about. And living hours apart might be good, at least at the beginning of whatever she had with Will. It'd certainly help her figure out if there was more to him than good looks and the ability to turn her into Jell-O.   
  
Before her doubts could return for round two, she quickly dialed Will's number, her breath coming fast.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hi," she answered, feeling much calmer at the sound of his voice.  
  
"Hey! Home all safe and sound?"  
  
"Yeah--although I think my sister is looking for the pod I must have crawled out of. Happy Buffy has been such a rare visitor lately, Dawn's probably feeling like she's in a remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers."  
  
"Well, since I like Happy Buffy, among the many Buffies I've met so far, we'll have to see about keeping her around."  
  
Buffy laughed into the phone. "So what did you do all day, while I was stuck in traffic?"  
  
She heard a slight pause, and then he cleared his throat. "Um, writing."  
  
"Writing? I thought you worked at a college."  
  
"How'd you find that out?" Will asked, already pretty sure whom she'd asked.  
  
"I bribed Rich to get the info this morning. And don't worry, I just bribed him with breakfast."  
  
"Remind me to find some new, less talkative friends," Will said, his voice joking. "Yes, I work in PR for a college down here. But what I really do is write."  
  
"How is that going for you?" Buffy asked, rolling onto her back.  
  
"It's good. Had a book of short stories published last year, so the next step is a novel. I've got an idea I'm working on now, seeing what develops."  
  
Buffy sighed. "It must be great, to know what you want to do, and to be good at it."  
  
"It's satisfying. Doesn't make the days I want to throw the computer out the bloody window any less frustrating though."  
  
Buffy nodded in agreement. "I get that. I had moments like that . . ." She trailed off, suddenly realizing how close she came to saying "when I was Slaying." A conversation definitely not to be begun now. Maybe not ever.  
  
She hurriedly tried to finish her sentence without attracting attention. ". . . in a job I had."  
  
A silence fell between them, but unlike on Saturday night, Buffy didn't rush to fill it with words. She merely listened to his breathing, wondering what expression was on his face, what emotion was lurking within his eyes.  
  
Will was the one to speak this time. "So tell me . . . what was the last thing you read that just knocked you out?"  
  
Buffy smiled happily, remembering his words from the previous evening. "A poem that I had to read for class. It didn't feel like schoolwork, because it just spoke to me. Neruda's sonnet #17."  
  
Will paused, and said, "I do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz/or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off./I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,/in secret, between the shadow and the soul."  
  
Buffy let out the breath she'd inhaled when he had started reciting. "Wow. Will, that was amazing."  
  
She could practically hear him blushing. "It's one of my favorites. Probably my favorite Neruda. So many people prefer 'I Crave Your Mouth,' but #17 has always seemed . . . more real to me. More basic and elemental."  
  
"I know what you mean," Buffy replied softly. She sighed, and said, "So do you like poetry?"  
  
"Love it," he said. "Can't write it for crap, so I let other people speak for me in that arena."  
  
"I suck with words, myself," Buffy commented.  
  
"Not at all, love--don't sell yourself short. Anyone who can quip like you is no lightweight. And you even can use big words when under the influence of my devastating charm."  
  
Buffy laughed. "You were hoping I would be so dazzled by the compliment, I wouldn't cut you down to size over the end of that sentence, weren't you?"  
  
"I'm a guy," Will said. "I always have to push my luck."  
  
"Is that a fact?" Buffy said, her eyebrow raised.  
  
"It's fully laid out in the Bloke's Bible, after 'Thou shalt not ask for directions' and before 'Thou shalt determine the nature of a break with a girlfriend before dating again'."  
  
"Never would have pegged you as a 'Friends' fan, Will."  
  
Will sighed melodramatically. "I was dating a girl who loved it. I watched it some, but it's just a mess now--who cares about Joey and Rachel, not to mention all of Monica's whinging?"  
  
"Don't worry, Will, I still think you're a real guy."  
  
"I should hope so," Will retorted, his voice sounding a bit sulky.  
  
Buffy grinned, amused by this side of Will. Suddenly, there was a click, and Dawn's voice came through the phone. "Hi, Buffy's Mystery Guy. Buffy, you forgot to get peanut butter at the store. Extra-chunky." The extension clicked off, and Buffy groaned.  
  
"Do you have any siblings?"  
  
"Nope, just me."  
  
"Well, that was tame for Dawn. Once, I was on the phone with the guy that every girl wanted to be the one on the other end of the phone. We're talking, and I can tell he's leading up to asking me to the Winter Formal. Then, Dawn picks up the phone, tells the guy I had doodled 'Buffy + Ryan = 4eva' all over my notebooks and that there were several interesting passages in my diary that could be had, for a price." Buffy grimaced at Will's laughter. "Hey, it was very traumatic to my fifteen year-old heart."  
  
Will finished laughing. "So even then, you had the guys falling all over you."  
  
Buffy frowned. She didn't want him to get the wrong idea . . . "Well, it was just silly high school stuff. Sure, I dated, but I tend towards 'serious boyfriend' versus 'revolving door of dates'. Just two boyfriends, and one fling." She paused, biting her lip and wondering if she had gotten too serious.  
  
"S'all right, love, wasn't fishing for your relationship history. No worries."  
  
Buffy waited, expecting him to return the favor. "Well, aren't you gonna spill about your exes now?"  
  
She could practically hear his smirk coming through the phone lines when he spoke. "Nah, I think I'll hold off. Gives you a reason to answer when I call you back."  
  
"Yeah, to tell you that you're a pig," she said, her tone teasing.   
  
"Grown with pride in Great Britain, just for you, pet," he replied. "What does tomorrow hold for you?"  
  
"Work," Buffy sighed. "And I have a paper to work on for next Monday."  
  
"Well, you've got a peanut butter emergency, so I'll let you go, love. But I'll call you tomorrow, if that's okay."  
  
"Okay? It'd be perfect," Buffy said, trying to sound happy even though she was loathe to stop talking.   
  
"Cheer up, Buffy. I know you'll have a great day tomorrow."  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "And how do you know that, Mr. Psychic?" she asked skeptically.  
  
"Simple. I know you will, because you're bloody amazing."  
  
Buffy felt a rush of sweetness at his words. "I'm gonna get used to this sweet talk pretty quick, if you keep it up."  
  
Will's voice dropped. "Just the truth as I see it. You take care of yourself."  
  
Buffy sighed. "I will. I'll talk to you tomorrow."  
  
She hung up the phone before she could say something stupid, like "We barely know each other but I'm already falling for you." She had never been one for expressing her emotions, but she felt so free with Will that she was forgetting her rules.  
  
'Remember, you can never take back words,' she told herself as she left her bedroom to deal with Dawn's PB withdrawal.  
  
**  
  
Will dragged himself into his house on Monday evening, never so happy to be home as he was at that moment. His day had, in a word, sucked. He had woken up late, cut himself shaving, nearly gotten into an accident on the way to work, and then dumped coffee all over himself ten minutes after he had walked in the door. He'd been given a huge new project that was designed to promote the college beyond their traditional recruitment areas, which meant a lot more work on his off-hours, and thus less time for writing. And to top it all off, he had niggling doubts all day about Buffy.  
  
He slammed into his kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and the refrigerator as hard as he wanted, needing the noise. Needing to release some of the tension he felt about Buffy. He could already tell he was falling head-first for her. Of course, he normally fell hard and fast for a girl when she caught his interest, but he'd never gone into a free fall like this before.   
  
Will dropped a plate, and roared as it broke into pieces all over the floor. "Bloody fuck!" he ranted, nearly pounding his fist through the countertop. Forgetting all thoughts of dinner, he stalked out of the kitchen and went to his study, plopped down at his desk, and pulled the phone towards him. He dialed Buffy's number, consciously trying to keep his breathing under control.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
Will paused, feeling thrown for a loop. It sounded like he'd gotten Buffy's sister. "Um, Dawn, right?"  
  
"Yep. Who's this?"  
  
"I'm Will--I'm a friend of Buffy's?" he said, cringing at the way he sounded. The next thing you knew, he'd be an even bigger ponce and ask Dawn if Buffy had talked about him.  
  
"Ohhhh," Dawn said, her voice becoming more cheerful. "Buffy's 'friend'. So, Will, what did you do to my sister, to turn her into a human being? Although if we're gonna get into NC-17 territory, you might want to withhold the details."   
  
Will opened and closed his mouth, thrown for a loop. He then heard the sound of voices and what sounded like a small fight over the phone, before Buffy's flustered voice came through the phone. "You know, she's regressing to a 12 year-old more and more every day. I'm starting to get a bit concerned. She might need to go to a doctor, or get an 8 o'clock curfew."  
  
Will could hear Dawn's voice fading in the background, before he managed to say, "Um, hi, Buffy."  
  
"Don't worry, I'm in my room now, and Dawn's gotten the hint, I think, to knock it off. So how are you doing?" she asked cheerfully.  
  
He groaned. "Awful. I was going to wait till later to call you, but I knew if I didn't calm down, I was gonna do something stupid."  
  
"Oh, Will. How stupid are we talking about?"  
  
He smiled at both her concern and her question. "'Punch my hand through a wall' stupid. You'd think I'd learn after the second broken finger, but I'm a slow learner in that aspect."  
  
He could hear Buffy 'hmmm' into the phone. "So what made today so bad?"  
  
"Just a little bit of everything, but the worst part was that I got this new assignment at work, and it means I'll have less time for writing. And I feel like I'm really getting somewhere with this latest idea."  
  
"That must suck. I've had periods where what I wanted conflicted with what I had to do--actually, that's the story of my life. So I feel your pain and all that."  
  
Will smiled. "Appreciated, pet. Do I at least have the satisfaction of knowing that your day went well?"  
  
He could almost picture her bouncing on her bed, she sounded so happy. "Oh my God, Will! I had the best day. I made a ton of sales, and then I came up with a great angle for my paper that I'm sure will blow my professor out of the water. And it's all because of you, I know it."  
  
"Guess it's just a case that I gave away all my luck to you."  
  
"Well, you're just too nice, then. Keep some for yourself. I want you to get super successful, so that I can feel all important for knowing a distinguished writer who's also-" Buffy stopped herself mid-sentence.  
  
"Who's also what, Buffy?" he asked, curious. When she mumbled something into the phone, he said, "What was that?"  
  
He heard her sigh, and then she said, "A distinguished writer who's also too damn attractive."  
  
Will felt a smile spread across his face. "Attractive, huh?"  
  
"Well, you have looked in a mirror lately, I'm sure you know that you're gorgeous." Her voice was tinged with irritation, but he sensed that it was directed more at herself than at him.  
  
"Love, the feeling is more than mutual. And you've just made my day."   
  
Will smiled into the phone, loving talking to her. Loving hearing her voice, sounding a bit shy when she said, "Okay, new topic before the sappiness overwhelms this phone call and dooms it."  
  
He laughed, and said, "Ball's in your court, love."  
  
"Okay," she said, pausing for a moment. "What's England like? I had a mentor when I was growing up who's English, but we never really talked about what it was like, and I've never even been out of California."  
  
"Now that is just criminal, if I do say so myself. We'll have to rectify that at some point," he said, not letting himself panic over suggesting mutual vacations and implying a deeper relationship between them.   
  
He leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes so he could see the images he was remembering more clearly. "England's so different from here. First off, there's the rain. It rains a little every day. No rhyme or reason to the when or how long; you'll be walking along and the skies will just open up with a soft, fine rain. Because of the rain, it's so green in the parks. I grew up in London, and I made some trips into Kent, and Derbyshire, and even to my eyes, it was a green that seemed bigger than the word, you know?"  
  
Buffy sighed a bit into the phone, and said, "Go on."  
  
"And there's the food. Everyone makes jokes about English cooking, but there's nothing like it when you want to get comfort out of what you're putting in your mouth. Even now, if I'm feeling a bit down, I'll go visit my mum, and she'll make Yorkshire pudding for me, and we'll have scones with plenty of cream and jam. And real scones, mind you, light and soft, none of this heavy-ass American pastry. Of course, I break tradition by having a Guinness with it all, rather than a cup of tea."  
  
She giggled, and asked, "You're really close to your mom, aren't you? I envy you that."  
  
Will paused, struck by the note of sadness in her voice. "What about you and your mother?"   
  
"Oh, we had the usual rough patches when I was younger, especially with my parents' divorce and our move to Sunnydale. But, it's your mom, you know? No matter how mad you are at her, you still love her." She sighed again, and said, with a catch of her voice, "My mom died about three and a half years ago. It was really sudden, and I didn't . . . adjust very well to being the grown-up and responsible for Dawn, especially since I was only twenty-one."  
  
"What about your father?"  
  
Buffy snorted. "I haven't seen him since I was 15. He's been too busy living in Spain with his new wife, who's only two years older than me."  
  
"Oh, pet," Will said, feeling his heart ache for her. "It's so tough to lose someone you love. And then to have someone else to take care of, too . . . didn't you have any help?"  
  
"I was lucky enough to have my friends, and Giles--that's the mentor I was talking about earlier--to help out with some money and lots of help around the house. It might not have been enough at the time, but we still made it through. And because of all that, I think Dawn and I are both better for it, and we've certainly got a bond that can't be broken."  
  
"Still, I'm sorry. It sounds like something that affects you a lot," Will said, wishing that he could do more than offer sympathy to her.   
  
"It does. Even now, I'll see something, or hear a joke, and my first thought is, 'Mom would love that!' And then I remember that I can't tell her, can't show her. Never easy."  
  
Will bit his lip, feeling awkward. "Hey, I'll suggest a topic change now," he blurted out. "What are you doing next weekend?"  
  
"Not this weekend, but next weekend?"   
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Um, well, nothing much. Some work, I think, but no schoolwork."  
  
"Well . . ." he said, crossing his fingers that this would work out, "Would you mind if I invited myself up? I'd love to get a chance to see you again, and to meet Dawn."  
  
"I could come down to San Diego . . . "  
  
"Nah, it's all right. I'll probably take off from work a day early and go visit my mother, actually. I'd be staying with her anyways, so it'll all work out."  
  
"Well, I don't know. Give away all your good-day karma to me, braving the freeways to see me, and willing to meet my sister. I'm becoming worried that you're too good to be true."  
  
Will chuckled. Despite the rough spots in their conversation, he felt like they were connecting. They weren't just floating along on witty quips and surface discussion; they were finding out about each other. And Will, for one, just wanted to know more about Buffy.   
  
"Don't have anything to worry about, love. You can pinch me when I visit, make sure I'm real."  
  
"Ooo, and I know just the place to pinch you," she said, and he could picture the devilish grin on her face. "And I think that's just the right amount of ego stroking for you. Don't want you to get such a good idea of yourself, you get all cocky and run off after some supermodel."  
  
"Not in a million years, love. I'd probably just run off after you."  
  
She sighed into the phone. "Okay, there's the sappiness again. I can't wait to see you again."  
  
He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Ditto. I'll talk to you tomorrow?"  
  
"Yeah," she said. "Um, I just want to say--I was kinda worried that I had moved too fast on Saturday, but it's only because . . . well, I wanted you to know--I like you." She laughed weakly. "I didn't mean to just blurt that out, but it just had to come out."  
  
Will felt his heart beat a bit faster. "Well, I like you too. A lot. Make you feel any better, to not be out there all alone?"  
  
"Yeah, it does." She paused. "Okay, I have to go, before I let my mouth say things that my brain is determined to keep secret, for now at least."  
  
Will chuckled again. "Right there with you on that one. Must keep my air of mystery, you know--it's a big part of this British charm."  
  
"You keep talking about 'British charm', but I've yet to see any of it. Perhaps it'll make an appearance next weekend?" Buffy teased.   
  
"Annoying chit," he muttered, hearing her laugh. "I'll call you tomorrow, love."  
  
"Night, Will."  
  
Will dropped the phone into the cradle, and propped his chin up on his hands, staring out the window. "Will my boy, you are getting into serious relationship territory," he commented.  
  
And then he smiled. "And I love it."  
  
End, Chapter Four 


	6. Five: Time Makes You Bolder

What is Choice?  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.  
  
Spoilers: Through Chosen.   
  
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).  
  
Chapter title taken from "Landslide", originally performed by Fleetwood Mac.  
  
Chapter Five: Time Makes You Bolder  
  
Will was trying to remember if he had ever been this nervous. Maybe the first time he kissed a girl. Maybe when he had first moved here from England. Maybe the first time he drove on the "wrong" side of the road. Maybe the first time he had sent a story to The New Yorker.  
  
Nope, he was pretty sure that he had never been this nervous. And he was the one who had gotten himself into this mess.  
  
Will rubbed his hands against the steering wheel as he drove towards his mother's house. He had been looking forward to this weekend with way too much anticipation and excitement. He was almost worried that he was gonna screw this up, because there was no way anything he wanted this much would turn out well.  
  
As he pulled into the driveway of the small bungalow his mother lived in, he forced himself to calm down. This weekend represented a chance to see Buffy, and get a deeper look at her life. Figure out if this was a girl who was worth pursuing, worth making changes for.   
  
"Like you don't already know the answer to that one, mate," he muttered to himself as he pulled his bags out of his trunk and walked up to the front door.  
  
He didn't even have to ring the bell before his mother had flung open the door. "Will! I was so happy when I got your message, saying you were coming up for the weekend." She stood to the side as he walked inside and dropped his bag in the hallway.   
  
Anne Smythe was a beautiful woman. The years of illness, now far behind her, had not altered her sweet face, or made her any less lovely to him. He gave her a quick, strong hug. "Mum." He was surprised to find that he felt almost like tearing up. Maybe all that talk with Buffy about mothers, and her loss, made him appreciate his own mother all the more, especially now that he had her here, in front of him, the scent of her perfume rising to meet him.   
  
Will pulled away, and said, "You're looking lovelier every day. You don't have some boyfriend around here to put those roses in your cheeks now, do you?"  
  
Anne smiled, but gave her son a knowing look. "No, but funny you should mention romance. What's she like?"  
  
Will frowned. "What? What are you talking about? What she?"  
  
Anne's smile widened. "The girl that's got you all happy. I could tell as soon as I saw you."  
  
Will stared at his mother. "That's just brilliant. How do mums do that?"  
  
"They teach us it special, darling, right after showing us how to tell when your child is lying to you," Anne smirked, patting her son on the cheek. "Come on inside--I didn't have the time for Yorkshire pudding, but I know my boy well enough to have scones. Want to spoil your dinner?" she said with a twinkle in her eye.   
  
Will grinned back at her. "Of course." He closed the door, and followed his mother into the kitchen. Taking a seat at the island, he said, "I'll spill, but only because otherwise I'd feel guilty about staying with you and not telling you where I'd be disappearing to."  
  
"Yes, son," Anne said, her voice serious but her eyes full of mirth.  
  
Will rolled his eyes, but started talking. "Her name's Buffy. She's a friend of a friend; I met her when she and her friend Xander were visiting Rich. She's a few years younger than me, and she lives up here. She's got a younger sister that she's bringing up on her own--can you believe it, when their mother died, not only did their father not come to the funeral, she still hasn't heard from him in all this time? Tosser. I can't imagine how she got through it. She said her friends helped some, but still, it must not be the same, to know that your mother is gone."  
  
Anne had drawn near with a plate of scones, and Will leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm so glad to have you, Mum."  
  
Anne smiled at him. "And I you, dear. Buffy, you said? Poor girl. But, I guess when in Rome . . . I've always found some of these poor girls here have the most dreadful names."  
  
Will shrugged, and tried not to blush when he said, "I don't know . . . it kinda suits her, I think. I mean, the very fact that it's such an odd name, and all. And you look at her, and you think she's your typical California girl, but underneath all that surface stuff, she's the strongest woman I've ever met. So her name fits her because it doesn't fit her." He stopped when he saw the look on his mother's face. "What? I know I was babbling, you don't have to tell me that."  
  
Anne sighed, before placing her hand over his. "No, dear. It's just so nice to hear you talk about anyone like this. And the fact that you're so secure about it that you will talk and express how you really feel. I'm so proud of you, and happy."  
  
Will turned his hand over, and gave his mother's hand a squeeze. Silence fell between them for a moment, before his mother squeezed back and moved to get the tea things set out. The quiet was broken when she said, "So, are you going to desert me all weekend, then?" The smile on her face told him that she was teasing.   
  
"Well . . ." he said. "Buffy has to work tomorrow morning, until about 2, she said. And she's working today, but we had planned that I'd pick her up at work and then we'd go out to dinner, before going back to her place so I could meet Dawn--that's her sister. Tomorrow night, we're going to the Getty and walk around the gardens and such. Then, on Sunday, we're probably going to do breakfast and everything before I leave. Would you like to join us for breakfast on Sunday?"  
  
"Oh, Will, that's so thoughtful. I'd be happy to join the two of you." She rustled around with the teacups, before speaking again. "It sounds like a lovely weekend for the both of you. How long ago did you meet?"  
  
Will bit his lip. "Well, only about two weeks. But we've been talking on the phone nearly every day, and . . . Mum, she's just so amazing. Part of me wants to spend as much time with her as I can, because I just want to know everything about her. But another part of me says to take it slow, to not rush things, because it's so easy to bollocks things up at the beginning, and you can never recover from that."  
  
Anne came back over to the island, and once again patted his hand. "You're thinking about this, which is always a good sign. You've been so prone to just following your feelings, when you should have taken a moment to think about things. Like with Drusilla," Anne said with a frown.  
  
Will sighed. "Mum, can we please not talk about her? For one thing, she's in the past, and for another thing, I'm well aware of how you feel about her."   
  
Anne sniffed. "Well, when you come home to find an older woman in the middle of deflowering your only son, your only child, on your living room sofa, you quickly form ideas of her character."  
  
"Oh, Mum," Will groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "If you want to dredge up embarrassing incidents from my life, can't we confine them to the ones where I'm also kind of sweet and charming, like the poetry? Wait, no--the poetry was crap . . . um, what about that time with the teacher that I tried to bake cookies for?"  
  
Anne smiled at her son. "Never fear. I promise that when I meet this vision of perfection known as Buffy, I'll keep the embarrassing stories and the baby pictures to a minimum." At his look of relief, she tacked on, "At first."   
  
Will groaned again, and she laughed as she brought the kettle over and poured the hot water over the tea in his cup. "Let your mother have some fun. Now drink your tea, eat your scone, and tell me more about this new idea you were telling me about, the one that's developing into the perfect book. Then you can go fetch your young lady."  
  
**  
  
Will tugged a bit at his shirt as he walked through the elaborate department store. He felt underdressed, in his well-worn jeans and black t-shirt. But after all, it wasn't like he had to dress up for Buffy . . .   
  
Besides, he knew he looked damn good.   
  
With a smile, he saw the sign for Ladies' Eveningwear and moved towards the registers. Although he wasn't tall, he was able to spot her blonde hair, and his heart tapped out a few quick beats.   
  
Her back was to him as he approached, and he nearly went with his first impulse of wrapping his arms around her, only stopping because he noticed she was talking with an attractive redhead that he assumed was a customer. Until he drew near and heard what Buffy was saying.   
  
"God, Willow, you have no idea how happy he's made me. We've been talking so much, and you know how much talking is not a normal Buffy thing."  
  
The redhead nodded and said, "Talking and Buffy, like oil and fire: mix at your own risk."  
  
Buffy groaned. "I'm not that bad, Will. Sheesh. Anyway, he's just so great, and have I mentioned he's gorgeous?"  
  
Will stood behind Buffy, and caught the redhead's eye. Buffy, babbling away, didn't notice when Willow winked at him and interrupted Buffy's stream of words. "Buff?"  
  
Buffy paused, sounding dazed when she said, "Yea-huh?"  
  
"When you say gorgeous, what kind of gorgeous? Tall, dark and handsome? Brad Pitt-esque? Based on the way you've been babbling--"  
  
"I do not babble." At Willow's look, Buffy said, "Much."  
  
Willow continued. "Based on the way you've been babbling, I'd say not too tall but very fit, curly hair, cheekbones you could cut glass with, and the most beautiful set of blue eyes you've ever seen."  
  
Buffy sounded surprised when she said, "How'd you know . . ." only to trail off when Will placed his hands on her shoulders. She whirled around, and the look on her face made his heart beat even harder.  
  
"Will!" she exclaimed, before she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. He nearly winced at the grip she had on him, but instead just enjoyed how close she was to him. God, it had been way too long since they had kissed . . .   
  
Buffy pulled away, but kept one arm wrapped around his waist. The smile on her face nearly blinded him. "You're early! I wasn't expecting you for another half hour. Don't tell me you skipped out on your mom to see me, because that is just not nice."  
  
He chuckled. "Don't worry, Mum's all taken care of. She's already promising to pull out the baby pictures and all the cringe-worthy stories when she meets you."  
  
Buffy grinned. "Awww, I bet you were a cute baby. All curly-haired and dimpled."   
  
Buffy's friend suddenly cleared her throat, and Buffy jumped. "Oh, Willow! Will, I want you to meet Willow; she's one of my best friends. Will, this is Will . . . oh, this could get confusing. Um, well, anyway, Willow, this is Will."  
  
Will smiled and held out his hand to Willow. "Thanks for helping me surprise her."  
  
Willow grinned at him. "My pleasure. And goodness, I can see why she babbled."  
  
Will tried very hard not to blush, as Buffy giggled.   
  
"Willow! You're impossible." Buffy turned to Will and said, "Do you mind just hanging around for a bit? I've got a few things to take care of before I leave, but I can't really talk to you unless you're an actual customer."  
  
"I can take him to the food court. Tell him all the things he really wants to know about Buffy Summers," Willow offered, an evil gleam in her eye.   
  
Will grinned at the deer-in-the-headlights expression on Buffy's face, but before she could start sputtering out some answer, he stepped in. "That's nice of you, Willow, but I think I'd rather just hang around here. But can you give me a raincheck?" he said, giving her a quick wink.  
  
Willow laughed. "Of course." She gave Buffy a quick hug and whispered something in her ear, before dashing away with a laugh when Buffy went to give her a quick slap on the arm.   
  
Buffy looked at Will, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "I'd tell you that I stay friends with her only to keep her from talking, but it appears that the plan isn't working." Will smiled at her, and she continued. "Anyway, give me about twenty minutes, and I'll be good to go. Now shoo--I can't concentrate with you here."  
  
Will took a step towards her, and leaned down into her personal space. He could hear her breath catch, and he worked hard to keep his own breathing under control. Would really spoil the effect if he was gasping like a sprinter after the hundred-yard dash. "Well, we can't have that, love. I'll be back in twenty." He hovered in front of her for a moment, before dropping a kiss on her cheek and walking away.  
  
As he walked towards the escalators that would take him to the second floor and men's apparel, he heard her let out a huge breath and say, "Wow."   
  
He spent the next twenty minutes with a huge smile on his face.   
  
**  
  
As Will followed Buffy to her apartment, he couldn't help thinking that Buffy was just a fantastic girl. During dinner, she had kept him laughing with her one-liners and her unusual perspective on life and society. More than once, he had just wanted to pull her onto his lap and kiss her breathless, because she was just so delightful that a kiss seemed to be the only way he could tell her how he felt. Somehow, he had managed to restrain himself to large smiles and a few hand squeezes. But it was getting more difficult as the evening went on . . .  
  
Buffy's apartment was in a large, well-maintained building not that far from where she worked. When he pulled into a parking space next to hers, he noticed that she was still sitting in her car. She seemed to be gripping the wheel, breathing forcefully like she was having a panic attack. He quickly got out of his car and went over to hers. She noticed him standing there, and got out of the car.   
  
"Sorry," she said, keeping her eyes averted. "Just . . . it all got to be too much for me."   
  
Will frowned, feeling a bit insecure and very nervous. "Are you all right, love? Is there anything I can do?"  
  
Buffy looked up at him. She seemed to be trying to decide what to say. Suddenly, she said, "Kiss me."  
  
Before Will could think things through, he leaned down and covered her mouth with his own. Her request had sent all his thoughts scattering like the wind, and then the feel of her lips . . . well, it was no wonder all the blood had left his brain.   
  
This kiss was a little sloppy, their noses bumping, as they got reacquainted with each other. He let his hands rest on her hips, rubbing small circles there, as her hands wrapped around his neck. When he finally pulled away, he found that he had pushed her against her car, and she seemed to be leaning heavily against it, like her legs didn't support her.   
  
He smirked a bit. 'Oh, yeah, still got it,' he thought to himself, especially when he took in her flushed face.   
  
She sighed, then smiled sadly. "I needed that." She made to move away, but Will held her in place.   
  
"Love? What's really wrong?"  
  
Buffy sighed again, and rested her forehead against his chest. "I don't know. Just, all of a sudden, I felt this wave of . . . I don't know, I guess sadness. Like I once had the chance to do something, and didn't, and I regretted it. And when I saw you, it got stronger. So I thought a kiss would help."  
  
He raised one of his hands, and brushed a strand of her hair away from her face. "And did it?"  
  
Buffy smiled, a proper one this time. "It did. Really, Will. I'm sorry for freaking out like that. Just never felt anything like that before."  
  
Will dropped a quick kiss on her lips, and then moved away, taking one of her hands in his. "Nothing to apologize about, love. Feel free to ask me to kiss you whenever you need it. Not a hardship for me to do that." He grinned at her, and she grinned back.   
  
"Come on, oh cocky one. You're about to be cut down to your own size," she said, pulling him toward her building.  
  
"How's that?" he asked.  
  
She flashed him a truly evil smirk. "You're about to meet my sister."  
  
Will quickly discovered that Buffy wasn't joking. As soon as they walked into the apartment, Dawn was on them like a Man U fan attacking Beckham.   
  
She was standing in front of the door, and watched them walk in. Will gulped when he saw her. She was nearly as tall as him, with long brown hair and a set of huge blue eyes. Said eyes were currently zeroed in on her sister and this guy she had brought home. Buffy paused when she saw her sister.  
  
"Hey, Dawnie. I want you to meet Will. Will, this is Dawn, although I'm sure her voice will be familiar to you, from her many phone interruptions." Buffy shot a good-natured scowl at her sister, before dropping Will's hand to shrug out of her jacket.  
  
"So, this is the guy who's made my sister all giddy." Dawn took a step towards him, and then walked around him, studying him like he was a bug under a microscope. "Well, he's certainly promising in the looks department."  
  
"Dawn," Buffy warned from the hall, where she was hanging up her jacket and flipping through the mail. "Be nice, or we might have to have a talk about that leather jacket you've been eyeing . . . "  
  
Dawn snorted. "Oh, please. I'm so badder than you. I have no worries. Besides," she said, looking at Will. "If he crumples with me, you know that any relationship would have been doomed."  
  
"Because the Dawn is all-knowing," Buffy shot back flippantly.   
  
Will decided that he had to take at least a bit of control before he was lost in the shuffle. He stepped forward and extended his hand. "Dawn, it's lovely to finally meet you."  
  
"Polite. Good," Dawn said, as she shook his hand. "Accent, always a plus, and like I said, you're attractive and have made Buffy unbelievably happy lately. She's very nearly human." Dawn's serious expression broke, and a huge smile covered her face. "Okay, you pass. Buffy, come put him out of his misery."  
  
Will sighed and rolled his eyes. "You could have warned me," Will said, leaning down to whisper in Buffy's ear when she rejoined him. "Or at least watched my back! I was ready for her to set me on fire or something."  
  
Buffy whispered back, "Classic interrogation technique. I had to leave you alone with her, or else I'd never hear the end of it from her. About how I had to protect the poor little man. Don't worry, you passed with flying colors. Now let's go make with the hanging out, and she'll get bored after a while and leave us alone."  
  
Will gulped a bit as he followed Buffy into the living room. Buffy seemed to be all smiles and flirtatious winks now, a huge contrast from her behavior in the parking lot. But since he currently felt enough of an endorphin rush that he could run a marathon, after that little grilling from Dawn, he knew he wasn't thinking too clearly. Besides, she wanted to be alone with him. Any blood that had returned to his brain had made a quick exit at that phrase.   
  
The three of them sat together in the living room. Dawn had taken a wing chair, and she sat with her legs over one arm as she rapidly channel-surfed. Will and Buffy sat on the couch, and it wasn't long before Buffy had leaned against him, letting her eyes droop. Dawn looked up, and smiled at Will.  
  
"Works like a charm every time. Feed her, and then subject her to flashing lights, and she drops off like a baby," Dawn said in a low voice.   
  
"Good to know," Will said, shifting a bit so that Buffy could lay down more on the couch and use him as a pillow. "So, you're in your last year of school?"  
  
Dawn nodded. "I've got four more weeks of school, and it can't end soon enough. I'm planning on taking some classes at UCLA in the fall, but I'll be getting a job, too, like Buffy. We were lucky to get some help from a family friend, after we left Sunnydale, so we're doing all right."  
  
Will nodded. "Any thoughts about what you want to study?"  
  
Dawn grinned. "It drives Buffy crazy, but I want to study landscaping and garden design. She keeps muttering something about 'checking the shrub box' when I bring it up."  
  
Will chuckled softly, before becoming serious. "Landscape design, huh? I suppose you want to travel some, places like Versailles and what all."  
  
Dawn turned towards him, losing interest in the TV. "Yeah, how'd you guess? If I can get into the program at UCLA, I can do an internship in England and France for my junior year. That's another reason Buffy was all twitchy about it at first; her baby sister, on her own in another country. But she's seemed more laid-back about it lately. I suspect that's 'cause she's spending all her worrying time thinking about you."  
  
"Huh?" Will said. "I didn't think we were at a worrying stage yet . . . "  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Guys. All the same. Girls start worrying about five minutes after meeting a guy--two, if he's really cute."  
  
"Huh," Will said, a bit surprised. "Well, she's got nothing to worry about."  
  
Dawn flashed a Mona Lisa smile at him. "I know. I can tell." She turned back to the TV and her surfing. "Oh, look! Notting Hill! Hugh Grant, and a garden. Perfect."  
  
Will snorted. "Nancy boy tosser."  
  
Dawn screwed around in her chair to look at him. "That sounds like an insult from your tone, but since I'm not sure that combination of words means anything in English, I'll just have to go with my gut instinct."  
  
Will grinned at her, before scowling at the screen. "You Americans, you hear an accent coming out of that pretty boy and you get all fluttery. I can assure you, pet, that Hugh Grant does not represent your Englishman on the street."  
  
"Uh-huh," Dawn said. "You're probably just jealous. You wish you could talk like him, because British people are all stuffy and class-conscious. 'Oh, my accent is so polished and upper-crust'."  
  
"Hey, now," Will said, "I can talk like him."  
  
Dawn looked at him. "Five bucks says you can't."  
  
Will straightened up. "My word, this is a fine flat. Just lovely. Your sister and yourself keep it so well, it's truly a wonder."  
  
By the end of his speech, Dawn was trying to muffle her giggles. "Oh, you sound so funny! Too bad Buffy was asleep for that."  
  
Will snorted. "Yeah, because that was her only chance of hearing it. She'll just have to make do with my normal voice."  
  
Dawn grinned at him, sensing that she had ruffled his feathers. "Don't worry, Buffy is quite taken with your voice. I heard her telling Willow about it."  
  
Will grinned at Dawn. "So, since I passed the inspection, I get to pump you for info?"  
  
Dawn nodded. "Yep. All part of the sister code. So what do you want to know?"  
  
And as the evening drew to a close, Buffy dozed on Will's lap, Will introduced Dawn to Monty Python via a re-run on the local public television station, and Dawn gave Will several interesting tidbits about Buffy's behavior over the past two weeks.   
  
Will looked at the two women that were sharing this small apartment. At the angel sleeping by his side, and the little devil who was currently watching MTV and making quiet observations on the state of music today. And he thought to himself, 'There is no place I'd rather be.'  
  
**  
  
By 11:30, Will could feel his own eyelids dropping shut more often, and he decided it was time to go. Dawn had gone into her bedroom, leaving the two of them alone. But Will hadn't had the heart to wake Buffy, so he had remained where he was, occasionally watching a bit of any program that caught his eye, but watching Buffy more.   
  
She looked so peaceful in her sleep. He wished that he could stay here, and curl up next to her. Let their bodies fall into the same rhythyms as they both slumbered, perhaps even sharing the same dreams. But he knew that not only was that enough to send Buffy skittering away, he also knew his mother would be worried. So, he leaned down, and dropped a kiss on Buffy's cheek. "Love, wake up."  
  
Buffy mumbled, before rolling over and looking up at him. She blinked a few times, and said, "Oh, what a crappy date I am. I fall asleep on you." She scrambled up, running a hand through her hair and wiping the sleep out of her eyes. "I've just been working so much, and between that and classes and getting ready for your visit, I guess I was more tired than I thought."  
  
Will smiled, and kissed her again. "No worries, love. Dawn and I were able to entertain ourselves just fine. Besides, you look like a princess when you're sleeping."  
  
Buffy smiled at him, moving closer towards him. "A princess, huh? Pretty nice."  
  
"Gotta make sure you get your ration of sweet talk," Will said, raising his hand and running it lightly over her face. She closed her eyes and sighed, and Will took advantage of this and leaned forward, kissing her deeply.   
  
The kisses they exchanged were soft and warm, with small sighs and moans slipping out from both of them. After a few minutes, though, Will pulled away. "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to get going. Have to make sure my girl gets her beauty sleep." He stood, and had turned the TV off and dropped the remote on the table, before he realized she was still sitting on the couch, staring up at him.  
  
In a small voice, she said, "I'm your girl?"  
  
Will dropped back down on the couch. "Of course, pet. I'm a monogamous type; I find someone I like and I stick around until she throws me out on the street."  
  
Buffy smiled at him, and she cupped his face in her hand. Her thumb brushed against his lips, and she dreamily said, "And you're my guy."  
  
Will's breath caught. He understood, now, why she had seemed so knocked for a loop a minute earlier. He cleared his throat, and said, "It sounds good."  
  
She nodded at him, a bit amused. "It does," she said, before she placed a delicate kiss on his lips. "I'll walk you to the door."  
  
She tugged him up off the couch, and together they walked down the hall. As they approached the door, Will felt his heart clenching. He really, really, really wanted to stay. Every impulse he felt, every muscle in his body, seemed to push him towards her and not the door.   
  
"I'll see you tomorrow," he choked out.   
  
"Around four," Buffy confirmed, smiling that lovely, peaceful smile at him.   
  
Suddenly, he just had to kiss her. Had to wrap his arms around her, and push her against the door, letting his mouth devour her. She came closer to him, standing on tip-toe, and then her body was pressing against his. He felt frantic, like he had to take in as much of her essence as he could. Like this could be his last chance . . .   
  
And just as quickly as the feeling had come over him, it faded away. The kiss slowed and gentled, and they finally pulled away, their chests heaving and their eyes glazed.   
  
Buffy was the first one to speak. "If that's the way you always say goodbye, it almost makes your leaving a good thing."  
  
Will shook his head, and let out a rueful laugh. "Sorry, love. Don't know what came over me. But I assure you," he said, letting a smirk come through, "I'll make the hello kiss even better."   
  
Buffy smiled back at him. "I look forward to it. Good night, Will." She leaned up and pecked his lips, before opening the door.  
  
"Night, Buffy. See you tomorrow," he said, and he walked out the door.   
  
As Will walked down the stairs, he shook his head at how the evening had gone. And that kiss at the end . . . amazing, but a bit terrifying. He had never felt that way with anyone. Not even Drusilla, whom he had loved with a burning passion. It made him wonder.   
  
But as he left the building, and headed towards his car, he let his thoughts drift away from that odd experience, and look forward to the future. The future he knew he was going to share with Buffy.  
  
End, Chapter Five 


	7. Six: We Slip and Slide as We Fall in Lov...

What is Choice?  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.  
  
Spoilers: Through Chosen.   
  
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).  
  
Chapter for this title comes from the Depeche Mode song "Just Can't Get Enough."  
  
Chapter Six: We Slip and Slide as We Fall in Love  
  
At moments during the past two months, Buffy had closed her eyes and wondered if there was some higher power she could thank for what she had in her life.   
  
Because for the first time in her memory, she was completely happy.   
  
Her job was going well. School was good. Dawn was getting good grades and was cheerful and optimistic.  
  
And out of all the good things in her life right now, Will was the best thing.   
  
She couldn't believe that she was actually involved in a healthy, adult relationship. She had always been afraid, since Angel, that she'd never be able to have another relationship that came close to that first love. She knew that was definitely the problem with Riley; although he had loved her, she couldn't love him because she was still dealing with her feelings for Angel, not to mention all the baggage from being a Slayer in love with a vampire. She had dated after Riley had left, and in the time since the Hellmouth had been closed, but no one ever seemed to capture her interest, much less make her want to open up.  
  
Will, however . . . being around him was like being given truth serum. It wasn't that she   
  
found herself confessing all her dark secrets to him, although on occasion, something she'd prefer to keep hidden did slip out. No, it was more that being with him allowed her to be true to herself for the first time in her life. She had never really felt like she showed the world her true face, not even when she was with Willow or Xander or even Dawn. At one time, she'd been pretty honest with Giles, but the fall-out from their disagreements over how to battle the First had affected that relationship, and she no longer felt secure with him.  
  
Yet she just had to walk into a room, and see Will, and she could feel her masks falling away. Suddenly, she wasn't just a young woman with eyes much older than they should be. She wasn't using her duty and responsibilities to hide her feelings, or express them in a way that she felt comfortable with but wasn't enough for the recipient. Instead, she was   
  
just Buffy. Someone who was strong, both emotionally and physically. Someone who knew what she wanted, and knew how to make someone happy.   
  
Of course, she hadn't let all her secrets out. She still hadn't told Will about her past. He knew that she had lived in Sunnydale, and had managed to get out in the nick of time, before the "sinkhole" devoured the town. But she hadn't explained why she had stayed till the last minute, when everyone else had been "evacuated". No, her life as a Slayer had remained carefully concealed from Will. She just couldn't think about how to broach the subject with him. He was open-minded, sure, but was he open-minded enough to accept the idea that vampires were real? That she had super-human strength? That there was always the chance that she'd be needed to help stop an apocalypse, and she could die? No, that was a topic of discussion that Buffy prefered to ignore. She had a great life now, with all the things that a girl could want: job, apartment, school, family, and boyfriend. Why jinx things?  
  
Buffy let her thoughts move away from such troubling matters to happier memories. Their first weekend together had been wonderful. Her minor freak-out aside, she had felt so comfortable with him. They had a wonderful time on Saturday night, having dinner and then visiting the Getty Museum, taking in the lovely views of Los Angeles. Before Will had left on Sunday, they had brunch together. She had been nervous about meeting his mother, but Mrs. Smythe, or Anne as she insisted that Buffy call her, had been a lovely woman.   
  
And when they said goodbye, he had given her a kiss that still made her toes curl when she thought about it.   
  
That was what made her the happiest about their relationship: she felt so at ease with him. During their long phone calls, they could talk about anything. He'd mention his book, and how well it was going, and even asked for her advice at times. It was so flattering, to know that he wanted her opinion. To make it even better, he excited her more than any man ever had. Some times, he just had to look at her, and she could feel her muscles clenching, her arousal hitting her like a freight train.   
  
Buffy sighed and gazed out the window, ignoring the economics textbook that sat in front of her on the kitchen table. After that weekend, she had known that she wanted to spend as much time as possible with Will. Phone calls weren't enough, even when they lasted for two and a half hours and forced her to work extra hours so she could afford the long distance bill. The Fates had smiled on her, and two weeks later, she had a free weekend. So she went down to San Diego, with hope in her heart, butterflies in her stomach, and her sexiest lingerie in her overnight bag.   
  
The Friday night she arrived, they had gone out for dinner at a seafood place near Will's house. The restaurant faced the water, with large windows that gave the place an airy, casual feel. Buffy felt overdressed at first, but every time she looked at Will, his eyes told her that she was beautiful. Anytime her nerves started twitching, she looked at him and felt her self-confidence rise. He made her feel like she had a power greater than Slayer strength: her personality, her looks, her soul, seemed to work some kind of magic over him. But it was a mutual feeling; she was under his spell just as much as he was under hers.   
  
The night progressed, and she was caught in a hazy, languid dream-like state, full of steamy looks and lingering touches. He fed her shrimp, and she sucked on his fingers, saying it was to get the last of the cocktail sauce, but really because she just wanted to taste him. They ate lobster, letting the butter trickle down their chins only to be wiped away by the other's fingers. Dessert was a sinfully rich chocolate cake. Buffy lifted a piece of cake to his mouth, and when he took the fork into his mouth, gazing at her as he dragged his lips from the utensil, she toyed with the desire to knock the table aside and attack him.  
  
Instead, she waited until they got back to his house, and then attacked him.   
  
God, it was good between them. She wasn't that experienced, and she'd certainly never explored her sexuality. None of her boyfriends in the past seemed eager to go beyond the basics, so she'd just made do. But Will seemed intent to find any spot on her body that gave her pleasure, and then lick, stroke, kiss, or otherwise touch each of those spots as often as he could. And when he finally slid into her, they both stilled, staring into each other's eyes. It was like finding a beautiful pearl after looking in a sea of oysters. She nearly started crying, because it was so sweet and tender and hot and blissful and sad. But she just wrapped her arms around him, and said, "When you touch me, I want to live forever."   
  
Will groaned, his eyes dropping shut, before he started moving. He leaned down and kissed her, and his voice was strained when he said, "It's . . . like . . . I can only . . . breathe . . . when I'm with . . . you." His gasps punctuated his statement, and she kissed his eyelids, wishing she could somehow draw him even closer to her.  
  
After that, there was no way in hell that she was letting him get away. She had woken up the next morning, to find he had snuggled up against her, his hand laying across her stomach. The only thought in her head was, 'I can't ever give this up.' So they had spent that weekend in bed, occasionally venturing out for food or a short trip to the beach. The weekend had been full of sex, yes, but there also smiles and jokes and those post-coital conversations where anything and everything seemed to take on a new significance and importance.   
  
Ever since, they had managed to see each other nearly every weekend. Even if it was only for a day, due to work schedules and other responsibilities, they managed to sneak away and find time to be together. Sometimes, they didn't even make love; they would just fall asleep together. Yet she always had the same thought when she woke up: 'I can't mess this up.'  
  
Her happiness seemed only matched by her fears. She worried that he would get in an accident on his way to see her. She wondered if she was enough for him. She feared that he would sell his book, become world-famous, and decide to hook up with the women who'd be throwing themselves at him. She even fretted that one day, he would get tired of dealing with a woman who was raising an always-underfoot teenager and find someone else with less complications. Buffy knew that he liked and cared about Dawn, and he had made no secret of how happy she made him, both in and out of bed. So she didn't know why she worried so much. Yet she did.  
  
Buffy shook her head, and tried to snap herself out of dreamland. Four chapters of economic policy and theory weren't going to get read if she spent all her time staring out the window and thinking about Will. She grinned, and muttered, "But the time would go by a lot faster then," before determinedly focusing her attention on her textbook. She had read all of one paragraph when the phone rang.   
  
With a giggle, Buffy jumped up and grabbed the phone. "Hello?"  
  
"You sound particularly happy, love," Will's voice purred through the phone. "Could it be because of a phone call from yours truly?"  
  
She grinned as she stretched the phone cord as far as it could reach, and sat back down at the kitchen table. "Actually, it's because you've saved me from probably the driest textbook ever written, on the driest subject in existence. You could have been a telemarketer, and I would have happily listened to your pitch for aluminum siding."  
  
"Humph," Will said. "Well, see if I talk dirty to you tonight, then."  
  
"Don't pout, Will," she said, restraining her urge to giggle. "It's wasted if I'm not there to see it in person."  
  
Suddenly, she heard a knock at the front door. "Oh, shoot, hold on--there's someone at the door." She dropped the phone on the table, and hurried over to the door, looking through the peephole. All she saw was red, so she frowned, slid the chain lock on, and opened the door.   
  
Will grinned at her, thrusting a huge bouquet of roses at her. She felt her mouth drop open, and she stared at him for a moment, before quickly slamming the door shut, knocking the chain aside, and throwing the door open. She wrapped her arms around him, dimly hearing his cell phone drop to the floor. "What are you doing here? It's only Wednesday! I thought I was coming down on Saturday to see you."  
  
Will handed her the roses, and bent over to pick up his cell phone. He moved into her apartment, and she saw that he had his overnight bag over his shoulder, as well as a bottle of champagne in his hand. "I couldn't wait, Buffy. I have such good news!"   
  
She followed him into the kitchen, watching him drop his bag and shrug out of his jacket on the way. Once in the kitchen, he hung up her phone, grabbed two flutes out of her cabinet, and poured the champagne. He grinned at her as he handed her a glass.  
  
"First, take a sip." She raised an eyebrow at him, but savored a bit of the bubbly wine, watching as he gulped a mouthful. Then, he took her other hand in his, and said, "I sold my book."  
  
"Oh my God, Will!" Buffy exclaimed, not caring about the glass of champagne she held as she once again threw her arms around him. "Oh, I'm so happy for you! When did you find out?"  
  
Will squeezed her tightly, and his voice sounded so happy when he replied. "Found out this morning, love. First thing I did was call in sick for the next couple of days, and then I hopped in the car. All I could think about was telling you."  
  
Buffy pulled back, and kissed him, their lips caressing. They paused for breath, and she closed her eyes, and just breathed in the combination of scents that now screamed 'Will' at her. When she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her.   
  
"It's all because of you that the book was finished. When I'm with you, it's like I can fly. So when I sit down to write, I just remember how you make me feel, and the words just pour out of me. God, I love you."  
  
Buffy gasped, staring at him. Will ducked his head, blushing a bit, but kept his eyes fixed on her. He reached and found one of her hands, and squeezed it. "I love you, Buffy," he said, his voice rough.   
  
She bit her lip, trying not to let out the tears that were forming. She couldn't believe that he was the first one to say it. He had made her so happy, made her into this new person who was very similiar to the Buffy she had been before becoming the Slayer. She owed so much to him, but she still hadn't really let him all the way into her soul, her heart. Hadn't given him the weapon of her love, a weapon that he could use to destroy her. Instead, he had given her the power. And she felt so strong, and so trusted, that there was only one choice for her, even if she felt her heart pounding and that tiny voice in the back of her head, warning her to keep her distance, that it wasn't worth the pain . . .  
  
She cupped his cheek in her hand, and tried to make her eyes express everything that she was feeling. He was staring at her, his heart in his eyes, looking so hopeful yet so sad that she found she wasn't that scared, after all.  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
Will sighed happily, his hands rubbing light circles on her hips. "God, that sounds bloody amazing."   
  
She giggled, and kissed his nose. "I love you," she said, feeling like she had just won the lottery.   
  
He grinned at her. "And that sounds even better." He swooped down, and kissed her within an inch of her life. She wrapped her arms around his neck, relying on his strength to keep her steady. Keep her protected, keep her loved.  
  
Buffy pulled away, and rested her forehead against his chest. "So, when do I get to see this masterpiece?" she asked, tracing his bicep.   
  
"Tonight, if you like. I brought a print-out. Thought you could look at it in-between the gifts and massive amounts of sex I'm going to give you for the next four days."  
  
Buffy giggled. "You don't have to give me the sex, you know. The gifts would be more than enough."  
  
Will growled at her, and slapped her bottom lightly. "Cease and desist, woman."  
  
Buffy laughed and pulled away from him. "Dawn's baby-sitting tonight, so she won't be home till ten. Wanna order in and veg out in front of the TV?"  
  
"Wanted to take you out to a nice, fancy place," Will said. His eyes lit up suddenly, and he grinned at her devilishly. "But if we stay home, you could read the book and then give me massive amounts of stroking. Both my ego and . . . other parts of me."  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Can we please stop thinking about sex? Gosh, you sell a book and you become a big old sex machine. You want pizza or Chinese?"  
  
Will flashed her a huge grin, and said, "Pizza works for me. Do you mind if I take a shower, love? Book's in my bag, if you want to read."  
  
Buffy, already on the phone, waved her hand towards her bathroom, and Will dropped a kiss on her forehead, before he pulled some clothes out of his bag and left the kitchen.  
  
After she hung up the phone, Buffy made a beeline for his duffle bag, and found a large accordion file. She pulled it out, and happily shoved aside her economics books to make a place for the file. She looked through the various compartments, and found the first chapters.   
  
Buffy set the papers down on the table and leaned forward, propping her chin up with her hands, her elbows set on the table. With anticipation, she started reading.  
  
**  
  
The sound of the shower turning off broke Buffy out of the disbelieving daze she had fallen into as she had read Will's book. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. His book . . . it was like someone had taken her life, changed some details, and made the main character male. Her introduction to her first Watcher, her battle with the Master, even Xander and Willow--it was all there.   
  
Buffy shook her head. 'How did he know? How did he find out?' she wondered, confused and disturbed. She didn't understand what was going on. She was still working up the courage to start talking to him about her life as a Slayer, but it was like she shouldn't have worried about it, because somehow, he knew. How else could he have gotten the details so perfectly?  
  
She felt a swirling fear churning in her belly. She was so scared. Scared that if he found out how much she had really inspired him, that he wouldn't want her anymore. Wouldn't love her. If he knew the truth about her, how could he ever accept it? No guy would be willing to be with a girl who was stronger than he was.   
  
Plus, did being his "inspiration" mean that he was only with her because of the book? And now that the book was done, did that mean things were going to change? Was he going to leave? She couldn't bear that thought. She was finally getting her life together, and he was a big part of it--the biggest. If he had betrayed her, what did that mean?   
  
When he walked into the kitchen, he smiled at the sight of her. "Oh, good, you're reading it! What do you think?"  
  
It used to amaze her, how he could seem so confident but then turn on a dime and become self-conscious and unsure. She had thought it was charming and wonderful.  
  
Now, it made her mad.   
  
'Bastard,' she thought. 'How the hell did he find this out? Does he think this is just some game? He thinks that I'm going to stand by and let him show my past to the world, for others to laugh at? No way in hell!'  
  
"What the hell is this?" she asked, the fear and anger affecting her so much that her voice was icy-cold.   
  
Will looked at her in surprise. "What? It's . . . it's my book."  
  
Buffy moved towards him, holding a page in her hand. "How'd you get the idea? What made you think, 'Hmm, a teenage boy who fights demons and vampires, assisted only by his Guide and his friends'? Why have his first battle be against a vampire older than old, with," she glanced at the paper, "'snake eyes and grape juice mouth'? How, Will?"  
  
Will seemed surprised, and he backed up against the counter as she came even closer towards him. "I don't really know! It just came to me one day . . . I started working on it right before I met you. In fact, I wrote the first few pages the day I met you."  
  
She turned away from him, tossing the sheet of paper on the table. "Have you been talking to Dawn? Has she been telling you about my life before? In Sunnydale?"  
  
"What? No!" Will sputtered. When she glared at him, he said, "Well, I mean, she said she was telling me 'Buffy's dark little secrets,' but nothing like this! Just things like how much you love ice skating, and your favorite ice cream is anything with chocolate in it."  
  
"Then who have you been talking to?" she screamed at him. She felt tears trickling down her cheeks, and she flew at him, pounding her fists into his chest. "Who told you? How did you know? How did you find out about me?" Buffy laid her head on his chest, sobbing. "I thought I was finally done baking. I thought I had gotten everything figured out. Job, school, friends, and as the cherry on top of the sundae, a wonderful, sexy, caring boyfriend." She sniffed, and pushed herself away from him, not caring about the confused, stricken look on his face.  
  
Buffy didn't care about anything except the pain she felt. She had been betrayed by someone, one of her nearest and dearest. He had found out about her. She didn't know why he taunted her over her failures with the cruel trick of the book, but she couldn't bear this. Couldn't bear the thought that her dream, of happy ever after and a normal life, was ending.  
  
She felt Will's hands on her shoulders. "Buffy, love, sweetheart, I don't understand. What do you mean, 'how did I find out about you?' Did something in the book remind you of something?"  
  
She snorted. "Oh, yeah, the book reminded me of something. My whole life." She whirled around and faced him again, not caring that her tears had made her mascara run and that her nose was probably red. "Your little flight of fancy just happens to be my life. Sure, the main character is a guy, and there's some different names and all. But . . ." she paused, sniffing and trying to control her voice, to get rid of that telltale quaver. "But, that all happened to me. I fought a Master vampire and died. I sent my first boyfriend to hell, because sleeping with me let out his demon. I only got that far, but I'm guessing the whole book is going to be like that . . . every single one of my lowest points, my greatest failures, chronicled for other people's entertainment."  
  
Will looked utterly amazed. "What the hell are you talking about? My book is your life?"  
  
She merely nodded, and Will stared at her for a moment, before beginning to pace around the kitchen. He stopped after he walked the length of the kitchen a few times, and turned to look at her, his hands on his hips. His voice was incredulous, and even a bit angry. "You're saying, that everything in the book happened to you? So there's really vampires and monsters? And you, all five foot two of you, fought them?" He snorted. "What's really going on, Buffy?"  
  
He dropped the hands from his hips, and stepped towards her, placing his hands on her arms. "Is this about what we said? Because if it was too soon, we can take a step back. But don't . . . don't use such a stupid excuse for being scared. I'm scared, too."  
  
  
  
Buffy sighed. He didn't get it. She felt the tears forming in her eyes again. "Will, I don't know how this is possible. How you could know so much. It's impossible. And I want to trust you. I do. I just . . . can't be around you tonight. It's too much."   
  
Will shook his head. "Buffy, no. I should stay--we can talk about this. You can tell me anything you want, ask me anything you need to know. You can't shut me out like this." He moved his hands from her arms to her face, cupping her cheeks with his hands. "Buffy, if you send me away tonight, this could be it. It'll be too easy to pull away and just let this divide us. I don't know how this has happened. I don't know if I believe you, that what I wrote is your life." He sighed, and continued. "But I'm willing to listen to you, when you explain it to me. But I need the explanations, Buffy. We have to talk this out. I can't let you break us up over this. I love you too much to let you walk away."  
  
Buffy leaned in, resting her head on his chest again. She breathed deeply, trying to control her sobs for a moment. "Will, I just can't. Please, give me tonight. I promise you, we can talk tomorrow. I need to figure things out on my own first. Tomorrow, we can talk. If you have to tie me to the bed, we can talk about this all tomorrow. But I can't do it tonight."  
  
Buffy stopped talking, afraid to look at him. She didn't know what to do. She knew he was right; they did need to talk. But if they did it tonight, she knew she'd say something that would destroy both of them. He had to leave. Had to leave before she made things even worse.  
  
She felt Will's breath on her forehead. He was breathing heavily, like he was trying not to cry. She sniffed, and finally managed to pull herself together enough to look at him.   
  
She wished she hadn't, when she saw his face. He looked devastated. Like his heart was being broken, and he didn't even know why. She felt the tears welling up again. "Oh, God, Will, please, just go. Go before I make things even worse."  
  
Will stared at her for a moment, like he didn't understand why he was there, or what she was saying. Then, without a word, he stepped away from her. He walked into the kitchen, and she could hear him picking up his things and shuffling the papers of his book. Then, he walked out of the kitchen, and walked down the hall. He paused, and looked back towards her.  
  
"I love you. Don't forget that."   
  
She looked at him, then dropped her eyes. She couldn't look at him. Couldn't watch him walk out of her apartment. Walk out of her life.   
  
She heard the door close, and she dropped to her knees. The sobs came fast, so powerful that she couldn't breathe. She wailed, unable to believe what was happening. Because despite his words, she didn't know what to remember, what to forget, what to believe.  
  
And she kept hearing that little voice, in the back of her head, taunting her. 'Told you it'd hurt . . . never should have said 'I love you' . . . you always make them leave . . . '   
  
**  
  
Buffy turned, confused. The last thing she remembered, she was laying on the floor of her living room, exhausted from her sobbing. She had stared at the carpet, feeling miserable. Now, though, she seemed to be outside, in a forest.   
  
"Welcome, Chosen One."  
  
Buffy whirled around, and saw three women standing in front of her. They were all beautiful, and dressed in . . . togas?  
  
Buffy frowned. "Okay, this is a very weird dream. I was in the middle of a personal crisis, and while it's nice to get a break, this isn't exactly what I would have thought I'd get."  
  
One of the women sighed and rolled her eyes. She stage-whispered, "This is why I don't like dealing with mortals. Such limited comprehension."  
  
The woman next to her nudged her, and then stepped forward. "We have called you forth, to this place, to open your eyes. You have been blinded, for reasons that are beyond your understanding. But these reasons are now more hindrance than help."  
  
Buffy sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm just a simple girl who was once a Slayer. You want to make that a little more vague?"  
  
The first woman made what sounded much like a snort, and the second woman sighed and then continued. "After the final battle, with the First Evil, we stepped in to alter your life, much as your life was altered by the Monks of Dagon, to explain the existence of the Key. Instead of implanting a person and memories, however, we removed a person's presence from your life."  
  
Buffy stared at the woman, not understanding. "Um . . . excuse me? How is that even possible?" she asked, her voice shaking. Her mind was reeling at this possibility. What did this mean? Who had been taken from her?   
  
"How this was accomplished is beyond your comprehension," the woman replied airily.   
  
"Okay, I'm getting tired of getting knocked for being human," Buffy said, stomping her foot. "Tell me, now, who you took and how you did it."  
  
The first woman asked suddenly, "How did you defeat Angelus, Slayer?"  
  
Buffy frowned, looking at her. "How did I defeat Angelus? I sent him to Hell, even though Willow had restored his soul, because Alfalfa had already opened."  
  
The woman sighed heavily. "But what about Drusilla? How were you able to defeat Drusilla, in order to confront Angelus?"  
  
"What? I . . ." Buffy's voice trailed off, as she realized she didn't know. Couldn't remember how Drusilla had been taken care of so she could deal with Angelus.   
  
"Now you are beginning to see," the second woman commented softly. "The first step is realizing that a deletion has occurred."   
  
Buffy found herself sitting on a small chair. She bit her lip, and twisted her hands in her lap. "Okay, I see what you're getting at," she said, feeling confused and worried.   
  
The second woman nodded approvingly. "You are much brighter than anyone, even yourself, has ever given you credit for."  
  
"If I'm so smart, why didn't I realize this before?" Buffy said, feeling a wave of self-doubt crash over her.  
  
"You could not have known, Slayer. We are only choosing to remove the veil now, at this point, because of what occurred in your reality in the last few of your hours," said the snippy one.  
  
Buffy started. "You mean, with Will? And his book?"  
  
"Precisely," she continued. "This was an unforseen consequence of an action we took regarding the person we removed from your life."  
  
The kind woman stepped forward, and sat next to Buffy in an identical chair. "You do not realize who we are. We are the Fates. We are responsible for spinning the thread of life, and cutting it, for each mortal in existence. It is a simple task, really. Even for Slayers who persist in coming back to life." She reached over and patted Buffy's hand.  
  
Buffy smiled weakly, at the woman's attempt of a joke. The woman continued. "Yet, every so often, something occurs and our judgement is flawed, our decision in conflict with the greater forces of the universe--the Powers that Be. In those cases, we must choose how to best resolve the conflict."  
  
Buffy frowned, puzzling over the woman's words. "Did this conflict affect the person removed from my life?"  
  
The woman smiled. "Yes. Our solution was to reward the soul in question with another chance at life. The first lifetime for the soul had been . . . convoluted. Yet the soul's mortal existence was terminated with an act of self-sacrifice so noble, so pure, that we could not let the soul wink out of existence. Thus, we gave the soul another vessel, similiar to the first. We gave it new memories, and set it down in California. Because this soul's mate was in California, still existing."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "I'm sorry, but why did you do all that? I mean, wouldn't there be a chance for this person to come in contact with its soul mate, and make a big old mess? It'd be like on an episode of Star Trek, when they time travel and mess things up and create a paraflox or something."  
  
"Normally, you would at least be partially correct. It would create errors. In fact, it has. But we chose to risk the errors, because being close to its soul mate was part of the reward for the disputed soul."  
  
Buffy sighed. "I still don't understand."  
  
The third woman, who had remained silent during the conversation, stepped forward. Buffy looked at her in confusion, and the woman drew near and bent down. She looked into Buffy's eyes, and uttered a single word.   
  
"Remember."   
  
Buffy stared at the woman, and the woman smiled, and pressed a gentle kiss against Buffy's forehead.   
  
And in a flash of color and sound, Buffy realized what was missing from her life. Who was missing. A cocky smirk. A black leather duster. A tender look. Blue eyes that could shift from violence to love in a second. Fangs. Anger. Hurt. Regret. Love.  
  
Yet some of these things were familiar to her. She knew them. Knew those eyes, knew that look. Had felt that love.   
  
And then, the rest of the explanation whirled through her.  
  
Buffy's eyes, which had closed involuntarily, popped open. She stared at the women, who had all stood before her now. They looked at her with sympathy and understanding.  
  
"I remember. I know," Buffy choked out.  
  
The three women spoke as one. "You have a difficult choice ahead of you, Slayer. Choose the truth, and risk pain. Choose the lie, and risk pain. You may be rewarded or punished. Your fate, and the fate of the one once known as Spike, and now known as Will, is out of our hands now. You are making your own fate, your own choice. Remember what you have been told before, by the representative of the Powers that Be, and you will be able to make your own destiny."  
  
"What? What representative of the Powers?" Buffy asked, confused.   
  
The Fates looked towards their left. Buffy followed their gaze, and saw the First Slayer. She was back in that moment that happened four years ago, sitting by a fire in the middle of the desert.   
  
The First Slayer stalked towards her. "You love with all your heart. It is brighter than the fire. Love, give, forgive. Love will lead you to your gift."  
  
Buffy frowned, remembering the next words. "And death is my gift?"  
  
The First Slayer shook her head. "No. He is your gift."  
  
End, Chapter Six 


	8. Seven: Was in Another Lifetime

What is Choice?  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.  
  
Spoilers: Through Chosen.   
  
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).  
  
Song lyric in chapter title comes from the brilliant song "Shelter from the Storm" by Bob Dylan.  
  
Chapter Seven: Was in Another Lifetime, One of Toil and Blood  
  
Will walked to his car, not heeding his surroundings at all. It took him five minutes to even find his car, he was so confused. When he finally got into the vehicle, he didn't even bother putting his key in the ignition. He just sat, staring out the windshield.  
  
'What just happened?' he thought to himself. He had no idea what was going on. They had been together, blissful from finally speaking their feelings, and then, he had left her reading his book. The book . . . the first big thing he had ever accomplished in his life. He had never done anything that important before. Knowing that she was going to read it had tied his stomach into knots. He was so hopeful that she would like it. Would be able to read his words, and see beyond them, into his mind, into his heart and soul. It took so much, to leave her in the kitchen with his pride and joy, and not hang around, asking her as she turned each page, "Do you like it?"  
  
So he had retreated to the bathroom, and stood under the spray of the shower. The water, first hot and then lukewarm, before becoming downright chilly, slicked down his body, and all he could think about was how she was going to react. To the book, and to the first page of the book. He had typed the dedication page last; in fact, he had written it this morning, after getting the good news from his agent. Even now, he could see the page in his mind's eye.  
  
"To Buffy, who answered the question I didn't even realize I was asking."  
  
Will frowned as he realized he was staring at her apartment's windows. They were dark, and he wondered what she was doing. Was she crying, those giant sobs that had pierced his heart? Was she furious? Was she missing him?  
  
'Sure she misses you, mate, after screaming at you, pounding on you, and refusing to talk to you,' that little voice in the back of his mind sarcastically commented. Will groaned, and shook his head. He had to get away from here. He started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot, only to realize that he didn't know where he wanted to go. He had planned to stay at Buffy's. He could go to his mother's house, of course, but he knew she'd want to know why he was in LA in the middle of the week, and especially why he wasn't staying at Buffy's place. He sat at a three-way intersection, and tried to figure out where to go, what to do.  
  
A car idled behind him as he tried to make up his mind. The driver finally gave up being patient and laid on his horn. Will, in no mood to be polite, flipped him off and gunned his car, turning left towards the freeway. He drove fast down the roads, barely obeying posted signs and completely ignoring the speed limits. He rolled down the windows, and turned on the stereo. The CD in the player was the Sex Pistols, and he screamed along with Johnny as he started driving north.   
  
Will didn't care that he was driving too fast. Didn't care that he was swerving around cars, ignoring the horns and flashing lights. He drove, and part of him couldn't help hoping that if he drove fast enough, he could outrun his thoughts. Outrun his memories. Because he kept seeing Buffy's face in his mind, tears streaking down her cheeks as she demanded, "Who told you about me? How did you find out?" He kept remembering how he had felt when she started crying, his shock at her words, and his disbelief.   
  
What in the hell was going on? Had he managed to fall for another nutcase, a woman who had no grasp on reality? If that was so, Buffy had hidden her crazy tendencies damn well. Because if she expected him to believe that she was some all-powerful superhero . . .   
  
It was too much for him. Barely checking his mirrors, Will wrenched his car into the lane for the upcoming exit. Driving fast through the stoplight at the bottom of the ramp, he found he was not that far from downtown LA, in a somewhat seedy area that seemed to be trying to reclaim itself. He could smell salt on the breeze, and figured he must be near the ocean.   
  
He drove down the road until he spotted just what he was looking for. A bar.   
  
He swung into the parking lot, not caring that he took up two spaces when he parked. He slammed the car door, and stormed into the place.   
  
When he entered, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lights. The place was dark, smoky, and filled with loud music. There was a small dance floor, but this place obviously wasn't out to attract the club-hopping sort. This was an honest-to-God bar, where people went to drown their troubles or use alcohol to help start some.   
  
Will didn't think he'd ever found a place more suited to the mood he was in.   
  
He found a seat at the bar, and gestured to the bartender, a muscle-bound guy who obviously doubled as the bouncer for the place. The bartender nodded at him, and Will said, "Wanna run a tab," flashing his credit card. "Whiskey, and keep it coming." The bartender nodded again, and plopped down a glass and poured him a shot. Will lifted the glass, tossed back the burning alcohol, and slammed the glass back down.   
  
"Again," he said. The bartender shrugged, poured another glass, and then left the bottle sitting on the counter before wandering to the other end of the bar. Will once again threw back the drink, and refilled his glass.   
  
The alcohol hit him quickly, although he just felt a bit dazed. "But then, you already felt like you'd gotten your fucking teeth kicked down your throat," he muttered to himself. He stared into the glass, wondering how in the hell he had gotten screwed like this. Here he was, a decent, hard-working bloke. He had found a woman who seemed absolutely, positively perfect to him. Her mind was brilliant and quirky, she had the face of an angel, she had the biggest yet shyest heart he'd ever seen, and a sex drive that had always impressed him.   
  
Will groaned and dropped his head onto the bar. Sex with Buffy had been a revelation. Mostly because it wasn't just sex. It was love-making, and he hated the fact that he was a big enough poof to even think that. But that's what it was: not screwing or fucking, but love-making. At least, that's how he had always felt. Even during the hottest, wildest times they had together, he had still seen it as making love.   
  
He snorted. "Such a nancy boy you are," he said, as he propped his head up with one hand. His other hand lifted the whiskey to the mouth, and he took a sip. "Had to be all romantic," he sneered, taking another swig. "Had to be all soft. 'Oh, you're my girl, Buffy,' 'Oh, you're my inspiration, Buffy,' 'Oh, I love you, Buffy'." He finished off the last of the whiskey in his glass. "Some inspiration you were."  
  
Her actions when she read his book were just so . . . odd. She had seemed angry, yet he could see fear swirling in her eyes. She had approached him, her anger surrounding her like the corona around a star. He had backed up against the cabinets, because he felt like a wildebeest about to be attacked by a lion. She had looked at him like he was prey, something to be destroyed. The anger had gone out of her quickly, and he was left with a crying, hysterical woman in his arms, babbling about baking and betrayal. He had tried to understand what she was saying, but it was just too ludicrous to be believed. He had somehow stolen her life and based his book on it?   
  
Will stared at the whiskey bottle, and started peeling one of the corners of the label. It was ridiculous. His book was supposed to be your traditional metaphorical coming of age story, using the fantasy leit-motif of supernatural demons representing your own personal demons. He had thought, as he wrote, that he was basing it on his own feelings when he was 18, coming to a new country with his mother, his only family who had been told she might only have three months left to live, and leaving his girlfriend behind. The fear and anger and sadness, tinged with unexpected pleasure--that was the emotions and memories that had shaped the book as he wrote.   
  
The coming-of-age story was one of those plots that every writer wrote some variation on at some point in their career. It was so damn common. And his "twist" on the cliched story wasn't that original, he knew. When he first started developing the idea, in fact, he had hesitated from giving in to the emotional appeal it held for him. He had thought it was too ordinary, not special, not memorable. But that day, when he had looked over his ideas and decided to go with it . . . suddenly, what had looked ordinary looked unique. What looked happenstance seemed chosen. Fate became destiny.   
  
That feeling--that 'click' of a key fitting into a lock--had been with him ever since he wrote the first word of the book. He'd never written anything so quickly. Even with extra work and spending as much time as he could with Buffy, he'd managed to churn out the book in six weeks. He'd stay up all hours, writing until the sun came up, only to go to work, put in a full day, and then come home. He'd fit in a phone call to Buffy, eat a little, and then put in another few hours of writing before finally collapsing into bed.   
  
Will had wondered in passing how this was happening, but he'd just ignored the feeling and kept writing. He hadn't wanted to jinx himself and think himself into writer's block. So he had kept writing, not letting himself ponder the choices he was making in the story. Why have the hero fall in love with one of the creatures he killed? Why did he write Luke as deeply scarred by that first love, growing increasingly unable to connect to others? How did he decide to let Luke share his power with others in order to save the world, rather than trying to do it all by himself?  
  
Now he wished he had thought more about the choices he made. About the words he picked and the ideas he'd developed. Because maybe then he could understand what the hell Buffy had meant when she said he had written her life.   
  
Because he couldn't understand it. Couldn't believe it. Because if he believed her, that meant she had kept things from him. Lied to him. Maybe she wasn't crazy like Dru, just a lying bitch. So his luck with women once again held true.  
  
He drank some more whiskey as he thought over the problem. It was impossible. Incredible. First, you had the question of, how in the world had he tapped into her life so much that every major event of her life was in his book? It would imply the existence of powers and possibilities that he couldn't comprehend.   
  
But more importantly, if he accepted that he had somehow, in some way, used her life for his book, what the hell did that mean? That demons were real? That there were people out there, fighting against evil and the darkness that he had thought was only metaphorical?  
  
And that Buffy, little Buffy who barely came up to his shoulder, had the strength to take on vampires who had been linebackers when they were alive?  
  
Will snorted, and pushed away the glass. It was a crock of shit. There was no way in hell that any of it was possible. He knew exactly what was going on. He knew that bitch all too well. After the fuzzy "I love you" moment, the stupid bint had gotten too scared with the idea of being in love, and so she'd grasped for the first pretext she could find to push him away. Threw a pretty little fit, saying that she'd been betrayed, turned on the waterworks, and confused him so much that he gave in and left, rather than talk things out with her.   
  
"Although probably a good thing at this point, as I want to fucking strangle her," he grumbled under his breath as he left the bar and headed to his car. He weaved as he walked on the pavement, the whiskey in his system affecting him too much. He managed to get inside his car, but slumped down in the seat, not bothering to start it. He knew he was in no shape to drive. He knew he should go and sleep this off. But he wasn't even sure where he was, much less if he could even find his mother's house. Not that he wanted to see her at this point.   
  
Will leaned back against the headrest, and wondered what he was going to do. He didn't want to see his mother. He didn't want to keep drinking; he knew he'd just end up getting in a fight. He couldn't see Buffy, and he didn't know at this point if he wanted to see her. Rich was on vacation with Rosie in Hawaii for their anniversary, and he certainly didn't feel like interrupting that.   
  
"I need more guy friends," he muttered. Then, he realized he did have a guy friend . . . kinda. He opened up his bag and dug around for his cell phone. Only last week, Buffy had given him Xander and Willow's phone numbers, saying it was always good to have them in case. He had shrugged and gone along with it; although he didn't know them that well, both of Buffy's friends had seemed like good people, and besides, he'd do anything to keep her happy. So, he'd programmed their numbers into his cell phone's address book, and had then forgotten about it.  
  
He quickly flipped open the phone and punched a few buttons.   
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Xander! Friend of Buffy!"  
  
"Will?" Xander sounded confused. Not surprising, but Will ignored it and carried on.  
  
"Yeah, s'me. Look, I need you to do me a favor."  
  
"Well, sure, I guess. Anything for Buffy's boyfriend."  
  
Will's lip twisted. "Not so sure I am anymore, mate. We had a fight, although calling it a fight is a bit of an understatement. On par with saying the Pacific is damp."   
  
"Ooookay," Xander said. "Have you been drinking?"  
  
"How'd you guess?" Will asked, knowing that he was slurring his words a bit.  
  
"Painful experience. Where are you?"  
  
"Umm . . . a bar called Soulless. It's on . . . " Will craned around in the car, looking for a street sign.   
  
"Don't bother," Xander said. "It's just down the road from me. You're lucky that you ended up in my backyard when you decided to go on a bender. I can drive, but it's not the easiest thing to do at night with only one eye. Hold on and I'll be there in about ten minutes."  
  
"Xander, you are a prince among men. I take back any insults I've ever made about you," Will said.  
  
He heard Xander faintly saying, "Huh? Insults?" as he disconnected the phone.   
  
Will sighed and dropped the phone on the seat next to him. He closed his eyes and leaned against the steering wheel. He was so tired. He was strung out from finishing the book, and the excitement that had caused. Then, the reunion with Buffy, the anticipation of showing her the book, and then the emotional meltdown . . . it was no wonder that when you combined all that with half a bottle of whiskey, he was feeling out of sorts.  
  
He was jolted out of his drifting, half-formed thoughts by a knock on the window. He looked up and saw Xander. He grinned, grabbed his phone and his bag, and stepped out of the car.   
  
"Insults, huh?" Xander said, cocking an eyebrow at him.   
  
Will waved one hand in the air. "A joke, mate. Anyway, I am a good responsible citizen and wouldn't dream of driving while intoxicated. And besides, I need another male to join me in cursing females, not to mention the man who invented whiskey." He swayed a bit, and Xander put out a hand to steady him.  
  
"Oh, this is gonna be fun. I hope you're not a singer when you're drunk," Xander said, pulling him towards a Honda Civic.   
  
"Of course I sing!" Will insisted loudly. He cleared his throat, and immediately began singing, "Twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours to go, I wanna be sedated!"  
  
"So do I," muttered Xander, as he got Will settled in the car, where the Brit was insisting on regaling the neighborhood with the Ramones' greatest hits.  
  
**  
  
"Girls are stupid," Will said again as he looked up at Xander. He knew that he was rather drunk at this point. But he had gotten past the loud, obnoxious singing and was now on the obnoxious self-doubting whinging.   
  
He knew that Xander was both confused and annoyed at his behavior. He knew that Xander wanted to call Buffy and dump this mess in her lap. After all, that's what he'd do, if Rich came to him drunk and moaning about some fight with Rosie.   
  
"I'm stupid, too," Will said. "Told her I loved her. And I do, you know? S'bloody incredible, being with her. And she said she loved me back! I couldn't believe it. And then I had to bollocks it all up. Left her reading my book, and came back to a different woman," he explained to Xander, who still looked confused.   
  
"What do you mean a different woman?" said Xander, who sat down on the chair that matched the sofa Will was currently sprawling across.   
  
"She had read the first couple chapters of my book. It's a great book," Will said, proudly. "All about fighting the forces of darkness, with one person able to defeat the evil in this world. But it's all meta . . . meta . . . " he trailed off, not quite remembering what he meant.  
  
"Metaphors?" Xander suggested.  
  
"Yeah, that!" Will said. "Metafives. Anyway, I come out, and she starts yelling at me. 'Someone betrayed me!' 'How did you know about me?'" Will shook his head. "Don't know what she meant. 'Cause it's impossible, what she said. She said it was her life! That everything in the book happened to her!" Will snorted. "As if. Bloody bitch just got scared with the warm fuzzies, and needed something, anything, to pick a fight over."  
  
Will looked over at Xander, and noticed that the other man had gone pale. "Hey, what's up, mate? I'm the one who's supposed to be pale-got that English skin, doesn't tan, just burns . . . " he trailed off, knowing he was approaching the passing-out stage of his evening.  
  
Xander stared at Will. "Oh, man. I can't believe this." Xander got up and started pacing. "It is impossible--it couldn't be true. Because it's just unthinkable!"  
  
Will groaned, Xander's pacing making him dizzy. He closed his eyes and drifted off, to the sound of Xander's babbling.  
  
**  
  
The feeling of a thousand knives stabbing into his brain awoke Will. He turned over awkwardly and stared at the room he was in. He ran through a mental checklist. Still in his clothes? Check. On a couch? Check. Fuzzy tongue, churning stomach, and an anvil for a head and the world was making horseshoes? Check.   
  
In short, he was majorly hung over.   
  
Will sighed, keeping his eyes shut. He slowly felt things coming back into focus, and he waited, half-hoping that he'd realize last night was a dream. Although it couldn't compare to the weird experiences he'd had while he slept. He had dreamt of blood and violence, and then of a girl who looked suspiciously like Buffy. Of falling in love and changing his whole world for her, but to never feel like it was enough.  
  
He humphed. "Too close to the truth, mate," he said out loud. Still, it had been a bit disturbing; the images had been so vivid. But hell, that would be expected, with the amount of liquor he had put away last night. Weird dreams would be part and parcel of the whole experience.  
  
Will decided to try sitting up, and had managed it without tossing his cookies, when a high electronic trilling made him want to pierce his own eardrums.   
  
"Oh, sweet Jesus," he muttered, forcing his eyes to open. He slowly pulled himself off the couch, and looked around for his bag. The whole time, he kept ordering his stomach to stay put and not get any ideas to do anything further about that whole nausea thing. The phone kept ringing, and he finally found his bag and dug out the phone.  
  
"Yeah?" he said, not caring how he sounded.  
  
"Will?"  
  
At the sound of her trembling voice, he felt several emotions race through him. Happiness that she had followed through on her promise to talk to him today. Sadness that they had fought. Fear that she didn't trust him. But somehow, the anger over her unbelievable excuses won out.   
  
"Yeah?" he replied, curtly.  
  
He heard her take a deep breath. "Well, I had said we could talk tomorrow, and since it's now tomorrow, I thought we could meet for breakfast, and I could try and explain what happened last night."  
  
He didn't say anything. He was doing all he could not to crush the phone in anger. The little bitch thought he'd fall for the sadness and hope in her voice, and let her play him. Well, he had been played before by women more talented at head games than Buffy. He wasn't going to let it happen again.  
  
He had let himself waste three years of his life, hanging around, waiting for Dru to finally come back to him, for real. He had bent over backwards, letting his soul get chipped away by her games. And at the end, he had been left with nothing.   
  
Never again.  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
He could practically hear her mouth drop open. "What? I mean . . . I thought you wanted to talk. And I want to talk to you. I need to . . . to apologize."  
  
"Well, you know how you said last night you couldn't deal with it right now? Well, I can't deal with you right now."  
  
He didn't care that he loved her. He couldn't let himself think about that. If he did, he'd forget his anger and get his heart trampled again.   
  
"Will, I don't understand," she said, her voice sounding choked. "I know this is all confusing, but I was able to figure things out last night. I know what's wrong."  
  
"So do I. It's you, pet. You decided to play a little game on old Will. You got scared when we said the dreaded three little words, so you had to figure out a way to destroy things. And you picked a fine way to destroy me, love. You attacked something that I had poured my heart into, and you accused me of betrayal. Not only that, but if the book is your life, which I doubt, you've been lying to me the whole time! I've figured everything out, so I don't think we need to talk."  
  
She was sobbing now. "Will! Why are you doing this? Last night--I'm so sorry. It was such a shock for me. And there was no way you could know what was going to happen when I read the book, because I haven't told you everything about me. But I want to tell you now. Please, Will, I have to tell you. It's the only way you'll understand."  
  
"I don't think you understand, girl. There's nothing to explain. I can't find smaller words than 'I don't want to talk to you,' that could be processed by your pea-sized brain."  
  
Will let his words flow out, letting the anger rule. His heart may be screeching at him that he was a heartless bastard and a pathetic excuse for a man, but he refused to let himself listen to his heart breaking.  
  
He listened to Buffy sniff, and said, "Goodbye."  
  
"Will!" she said quickly.  
  
"What?" he said, trying to sound disinterested.  
  
She paused, and then said, tremulously, "I love you."  
  
"No, you don't, love," he sneered, before he hit the end button. He quickly turned off the phone, dropped it on the floor, and headed to the bathroom to puke his guts up.  
  
**  
  
Will stumbled out of the bathroom, feeling even more like shit. You'd think throwing up till you saw your feet come out of your mouth would make you feel better, but it didn't work like that.  
  
He paused when he saw Xander, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "Hey, mate, thanks for letting me stay here last night. I was . . . messed up."  
  
Xander looked at him, and Will nearly shivered at the ice in Xander's gaze.   
  
"I heard the end of your phone call to Buffy."  
  
Will stepped back. Xander looked murderous. Like he wanted to tear Will apart with his two hands. Xander took a step towards him.  
  
"I tried to call her last night, after you passed out, but I couldn't get through. Couldn't warn her. And then I heard what you said to her." Xander paused, and Will swallowed hard. "Will, I know you're hurting. You're confused. You're hung over. For those reasons, I'm not going to kick your ass, although we could argue that you deserve it. But I want you to get the hell out of my apartment."  
  
Will looked at Xander for a moment, before he had to drop his eyes. Couldn't take looking at Xander, his normally kind face set in a hard expression, the eye patch that normally looked a bit goofy making his face seem dangerous. He wanted to say he was sorry, wanted to explain to Xander. But he couldn't find the words. So he picked up his cell phone and his bag, and walked stiffly out of Xander's apartment into the bright sunshine.   
  
He slung his bag over his shoulder, and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked down the street. He felt like he was burning bridges, not after he had crossed them, but as he crossed them. The flames were licking at his heels, and it was only a matter of time before he plunged into the cold water, broken on the current and the debris.  
  
He plodded towards the bar, planning to retrieve his car and then get the hell out of this town. Go back to San Diego, lick his wounds, figure out what to do. Try to put his life back together without Buffy. How quickly she had fallen into place, making his life so incredibly full. Now, the emptiness was so complete, he wondered if he could make it through.  
  
He stared at his feet, before letting his gaze drift. The road was lined with small stores, their windows full of pawned items, homemade crafts, or food. It was still early, so most of them were still closed, the glass protected by iron bars. As he walked past one second-hand store, though, he glanced at the window, and stopped in his tracks, staring ahead of him. Part of him didn't want to turn back to the window. He had a feeling that something in his life was about to change, and he didn't understand how or why.  
  
Slowly, Will turned his head. The item in the store's window that had caught his attention was a long, leather duster. It looked battered and worn, like it had gone through years of abuse, but at the same time, it looked well-tended; he noticed a rip that had been repaired around one of the sleeves.  
  
He let his bag drop to the ground, as he walked towards the window. He put his hands on the glass, trying to get closer to the coat. It called to him. It looked imposing and intimidating on the mannequin, but he knew how it felt. How the weight settled over his shoulders, how the leather flapped against his legs, how the cuffs hung just a hair too long over his wrists.   
  
"What the hell?" he said.  
  
And like that, Will remembered who he was. Who he had been. What he had done. Who he loved.   
  
Spike stepped away from the window, not caring that he could see his reflection. He stared at his hands, and looked up at the sunlight. He felt the breath going in and out of his lungs. Felt his heart beating.   
  
In an awed voice, he said, "Bloody hell."  
  
End, Chapter Seven 


	9. Eight: Just Listen to the Reasons

What is Choice?  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.  
  
Spoilers: Through Chosen.   
  
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).  
  
Chapter title comes from the song "Amazing" by Josh Kelly.  
  
Chapter Eight: Just Listen to the Reasons and the Hints That I've Been Giving  
  
Ever since the phone call, Buffy had retreated into herself. She went to work. She finished her classes for the semester. She spent time with Dawn and her friends. But she was pretending, and her sister and her friends knew she was pretending. So far, none of them had called her on it, although she knew that Dawn was preparing to make some overtures towards talking.   
  
But she couldn't do it. She had been so proud of how far she had come with him. She thought she had finally put the specter of Angel behind her. The scars he had left on her, while still there, had started to heal. But Will had made Angel look like an amateur.  
  
And if it wasn't enough to have to deal with Will utterly crushing her heart, there was Spike. Who was Will, in one of those "Ben-is-Glory" ways.  
  
Buffy sat in her living room, trying to pay bills. She always used to do these kinds of chores at the kitchen table, but since that night two weeks ago, she'd been unable to spend much time in that room, much less sit at the table. She sipped her mug of tea, and tried to concentrate. Yet her mind continued to spiral back to the mess that was her life.  
  
She tossed her pen on the table, and screamed in frustration. Of course, she had forgotten Dawn was home, who came running out of her room at Buffy's screech.  
  
"Buffy! What's wrong?"  
  
Buffy sighed. "Sorry, Dawn. Just had to let that out. Ignore me."  
  
Dawn looked at Buffy, her head tilted to one side. "Are you sure you want me to do that?"  
  
"Dawn, the last thing I need right now is pop psychology," Buffy said grumpily.   
  
"No, what you need is to stop hiding and start talking. To Will for sure, but if not him, to me, or Willow or Xander. Buffy, you had started to come back. But now, you're worse than you ever were before."  
  
Buffy gazed at her sister, who seemed so much smarter than she was. So much more intuitive, more observant.  
  
"You remind me of Spike," Buffy said, not thinking.   
  
Dawn's face grew puzzled. "Spike? Who's Spike?"  
  
Buffy felt her heart shrivel up even more. Obviously that one point she was wondering about-whether memories of Spike had been returned to everyone else-was settled. Looked like she was the only person in the world who knew that they all owed their existence to Spike.  
  
She felt some tears well up in her eyes, but ignored them. "Oh, no one. Just having random thoughts."  
  
Dawn nodded, but kept her gaze fixed on Buffy's face, her eyes begging Buffy to open up.   
  
Buffy dropped her eyes, unable to look at her sister. "Dawn, I know that you're worried about me. And I think I'm finally getting to a place where I can talk about things. And you'll be the first one I talk to. But I can't do it yet." She looked up at Dawn, her face hopeful. "Please, give me more time."  
  
Dawn looked at her for a moment, then nodded. She gave Buffy a quick hug, and headed back to her room.  
  
Buffy watched her leave, and then leaned back against the couch. She looked up at the ceiling, and let the tears fall. But she didn't know who she was crying for. Will, or Spike.  
  
**  
  
It was confusing, not even knowing what name to call yourself in your thoughts, much less getting used to answering to one name when you were thinking of yourself by another name.  
  
He went back and forth on whether he should accept his fate, and go by Will, or if he needed to remember who he really was, and thus be known as Spike. Whenever he thought he had made a choice, something happened to change his mind. He turned around when someone called him "Will," or overheard people talking about Spike, and wondered if they were talking about him, only to find out that the conversation was about Spike Lee.   
  
He knew, though, that the reason he pondered this so much was because it kept his mind off her. The girl with one name, and who stimulated one response in him. Buffy, beloved Buffy.   
  
It had been fourteen days since he had talked to her. Since he had broken her heart, and his. Since he found out the truth. Since he had awoken from the Matrix-like dream and found himself alone in the real world . . .   
  
"Bloody hell," he said, rolling his eyes. "Next thing I know, you'll be wanting to go help the hopeless and get hair gel tips from Angel."   
  
At times, it was like an odd case of multiple personality; even though their personalities meshed for the most part, their thoughts could be diametrically opposed on some issues, and Spike was never shy of making his feelings known. Will chose to pick his battles more carefully, the result being that he tended to win his more often.   
  
All the memories of Spike's life had returned to Will in that moment, standing on the sidewalk in front of the pawn shop. The first thing he had done was wait for the shop to open, and then went inside and bought the duster. He didn't know if it was Spike or Will who wanted the coat more. And while it wasn't the most practical garment to own in Southern California, it was important to both of them. For Spike, the coat represented the way he had been able, back in Sunnydale, to leash his demon. For Will, it reminded him that nothing was necessarily as it appeared.   
  
His friends and work colleagues were beginning to wonder what was going on with him. He had bleached his hair when he returned to San Diego. He didn't slick it back, but kept it in loose curls. He didn't worry about the British expressions that slipped into his speech now; before, he had worked hard to keep his accent but not necessarily the words. Will found he liked the jolt of surprise from his coworkers when he was yelling "Bollocks!" at his computer when it froze up in the middle of a writing a press release.  
  
Will knew now that while he'd never really wanted to be human when he was Spike, he was happy with his life. But Will was also beginning to perceive things differently. He had gained over one hundred and twenty years of experience and memories, and that's bound to change your attitudes on politics and society. And it made him think and appreciate different things when he saw them through that prism.   
  
So, in short, he was gradually figuring out what was Will, what was Spike, and seeing that there really wasn't many differences between the two of them. Other than the name confusion, he thought that eventually, things would be smoothed over.   
  
Will sighed. If he was choosing to accept Spike, and treating it as part of him, that meant he had to focus on the Buffy issue. And he wasn't sure if he'd be able to figure that out at all.   
  
He went out on the balcony to enjoy the sunshine. So many things in his life now made sense, now that he knew about Spike. His love for sunshine and the outdoors, for one. Will smiled, nostalgically, thinking of the day with the Gem of Amara. Didn't have it long enough to freckle, but at least now he knew that he didn't freckle, didn't really tan.   
  
Of course, the reason he didn't hang onto the Gem was Buffy. Buffy, who centered in so much more of his life now. Will had thought she had played a large part in his life before, but once he realized the history that they had shared, he realized the truth.  
  
Without Buffy, he was nothing. He wouldn't be here, if not for Buffy. He had suffered and despaired, true, but without that pain, he wouldn't be human now, wouldn't have known the bliss of loving and being loved by Buffy, even if that bliss had been short-lived.  
  
Will leaned back in his chair, gazing out at the ocean. The way he saw it, the first question he needed to ask was whether Buffy was worth the pain and heartache involved in trying to win her back.  
  
Part of him wanted to point out that she hadn't trusted him, when she first read the book, to tell him what she was going through. Hell, she hadn't trusted him to tell him what her life had been like before she moved to LA.   
  
But even more troubling then the question of trust was the dark doubt that haunted his mind. Buffy had said she loved Spike, right before he closed the Hellmouth. And she said she loved Will. But did she really love him, at all? Either version? Had she twice deluded herself, and him, into thinking that she cared for him, loved him? Could this all be some cosmic joke played on him? Something to torture him, give him a hell on Earth since he had managed to cheat his way out of the literal hell?  
  
But she had lied to him. Hadn't told him about her life before he met her. Did that mean that anything that had happened between them was real? Had she really loved him?   
  
  
  
Will sighed. If he knew that she loved him, really believed it, he'd be so much more willing to go after her, make things work between them. Before, he wouldn't have cared if she loved him back. Spike was happy to love Buffy, and give her anything she needed. But now, as Will, he needed more. He didn't know if he trusted her. He didn't know if she loved him. He might have been a fool for love before, but that didn't mean he had to stay that way.   
  
**  
  
Buffy tapped her hands against the steering wheel, trying not to give into her urge to slay some of the cars ahead of her. Stuck in traffic on the freeway, there wasn't much to distract her from her thoughts. She scooched down in her seat, and pondered the eternal questions.   
  
Why do you park on a driveway but drive on a parkway? Why is the sky blue? How could Will's eyes be the same blue as Spike's?   
  
She still didn't completely understand why the Fates had made the choice they had. Why they returned Spike to Earth in a body so similiar to his old one, with a personality that reminded her so much of Spike. Then, when they had restored her memories, why hadn't they restored everyone else's? Would have made things a lot easier to explain, if Will knew. It was like the Fates wanted this all to happen. Wanted them to meet, fall in love, but then be destroyed by the knowledge of who he once was. And what she had done to him.   
  
Buffy closed her eyes. She wished that she couldn't believe what she had done to him, but she couldn't make that wish. Because she knew how easy it would be for her to abuse someone that she didn't see as human, as real. Spike, as a vampire, had just been a demon to her. Old Buffy wasn't able to see past the label, even when her heart and her eyes had given her proof otherwise. Resurrection trauma aside, she had acted with as much feeling as she thought Spike had. In other words, none.   
  
She wasn't sure if that was still the case with her. If nothing else, the erasure of Spike from her memories had helped to blur the year following her return to life. She couldn't remember much of her depression, or how she had pulled herself out of it. If she hadn't gone through the emotional pain of her relationship with Spike, would she have been so closed off during the battle with the First, to her detriment? There was no way of knowing now, but with the knowledge she had, Buffy knew that she couldn't exist within such narrow boundaries of human equaled good and demon equaled bad.  
  
The traffic eased up a bit, and she inched forward.   
  
So, she had established that she had messed up, big time, with Will. It appeared that she had also messed up with Spike. The Fates had talked about a choice, living with the truth or living with the lie. Buffy guessed it meant she had to choose whether Will/Spike was worth all the turmoil that affected their relationship. She had to admit that whether he answered to Will or Spike, she loved the soul and spirit that existed within his body, and she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life. If she couldn't accept that, she needed to move on. Tell herself that it was over, and try and put her life back together.   
  
Buffy gazed at the brake lights of the car ahead of her, and it was like staring at a chain of stop signs, telling her to stop, think, wait, stall, put off any decision. 'Protect yourself,' the voice in the back of her head whispered. 'It's too late for you and him.'  
  
The red seemed to hypnotize her, and she found her thoughts drifting away from Spike, from Will, from the confusion that affected her every move. The color made things seem so much easier. She loved him. She wanted to fix things. All she had to do was make the first move. Call him, beg him to listen to her. Forget about her pride and sacrifice anything she could to make him hear her. It would all be worth it if she could get him back.  
  
A car horn interrupted her trance. Buffy realized the traffic had started moving, and she hit the gas. As she drove down the freeway, she started making plans. She tried to imagine phoning him, speculated on the different reactions he might have. She focused all her energy on him, using every nugget of knowledge she had about Spike and Will.   
  
Maybe if she thought and prepared enough, she might be able to ignore the cold fear surrounding her heart. A fear that told her she was too late.  
  
**  
  
Will entered his house, happy to be home. Ever since he had sold his book, he had wondered why he kept his job. Now more than ever, he knew that he didn't want to stay at the college, writing puff pieces on the newest dean and describing the donations that the fat-cat trustees kept making. Yet his breakup with Buffy had also put the book in limbo, and until he knew what he was going to do with the manuscript, he couldn't possibly quit his job.  
  
He ate a sandwich and grabbed a bottle of beer before heading into his study. He turned on his computer and opened up the file that contained the text of his book. He had resolved that tonight, he'd look over his novel and decide what to do with it. He could either substantially edit the book, and in effect, turn it into something new that might not please his publisher. He could scrap the whole thing entirely, and withdraw it from his publisher. While he could legally do that, Will didn't know if his career would be able to withstand something that would appear so fickle. Or, he could let the book stand, and let it be published.   
  
Will gazed at the monitor, and was transfixed by the blinking cursor. He didn't know if he could edit the book. Didn't think he could change the book without destroying it. And if the book was the only thing that remained from his relationship with Buffy, he didn't think that withholding it from publication was the right choice. Maybe he should let the book go ahead, and serve as a memorial to a time when he thought he had it all, only to lose the most important thing.  
  
Because he could have had it all with Buffy. There had been none of the things that had doomed the relationship between Buffy and Spike. No belittlement of who he was, no anger over Buffy's choice of him. Hell, he'd even been able to get along with Xander, something he would never have thought possible in the old days.   
  
But he couldn't tell Buffy what he had discovered. And if he couldn't tell her, he couldn't be with her. He wouldn't lie to her, or anyone, the way she lied to him.   
  
He shook his head. "What a poofter you are," he muttered. Why the hell should it matter? If anything, he could give her a taste of her own medicine. Of course, that would require going through the agony of making up, only to dump her. And he didn't think he could be that cruel to her. He knew what Buffy had been through, knew her fears. Didn't mean he wasn't still angry with her. Just meant that the anger was tempered a bit with the desire to have things be finished. This limbo they had been in for the last month was stupid. He should just pick up the phone and call her. Pick up the phone . . .   
  
He jumped in his chair when his phone rang. Rolling his eyes, he picked up the cordless and said, "Hello?"  
  
"Hi. It's Buffy. Please don't hang up."  
  
If he hadn't already been sitting, he would have collapsed into a chair. She was calling him? Bloody hell.   
  
He sat in silence, not sure of what to say, before Buffy said, "Well, at least you haven't hung up."  
  
Will sucked in a huge breath. "Hello." Saying something seemed to loosen his tongue and made his brain start working. "I can't say that I was expecting your call," he said, his voice cautious.  
  
"No, I know this must be a surprise. But I had to risk it, even if you just hung up on me. I just felt . . . I decided that I didn't want to live in doubt any more."  
  
"Doubt of what?" he asked, curious.   
  
"Lots of things," she said, sounding hesitant. "About what I felt, and what I had said to you." She paused, and said in a rush, "I couldn't let you doubt me."  
  
Will frowned, and wondered how honest he wanted to be with her. Wondered if she could handle the whole truth. Before he could even contemplate the matter fully, though, his mouth decided to start talking. "It's easy to doubt, when you feel like you're not trusted."  
  
"You thought I didn't trust you?"  
  
"Well, look at it from my perspective, Buffy. You read my book and tell me that I've somehow managed to tap into the real story of your life. Now, first, you're telling me this just after . . ." His voice trailed off, and he tried to not relive that joyful moment. Of course, he failed.   
  
He quickly rushed ahead, tripping a bit over his words. "You tell me this after we've just confessed how we really feel. So I start wondering if you really meant what you said. And you've also got the issue that if I believe you, and accept that you had this life fighting demons and whatnot that you haven't told me about. You lied to me, by omission. It was like getting a right hook to the jaw, followed by a kick in the gut."  
  
Buffy's reply was slow in coming. "I can certainly understand how you feel . . . Will." She said his name with some hesitation, and he wondered why. "But how could I know how you'd react? I've been so lucky to find friends who knew about my life, and were willing to fight with me and help me. But for every person who could see the truth and accept it, there were ten, twenty, fifty who couldn't. Couldn't accept the idea that demons really exist. Couldn't accept the idea that a short blonde girl was the only thing standing between them and hell on earth. Hell, I'm just the type who'd normally die in the first ten minutes of the movie, if life were a horror movie."  
  
Will sighed. "So why keep things secret now? I mean, you're not still out there, are you?" He had never noticed any signs that she was patrolling, never saw any fresh scars or wounds on her body.  
  
"No, I'm . . . retired. Basically, there are plenty of Slayers--that's what I was, a Slayer. When I started, the story started with 'one girl to fight the forces of darkness'. But I kept changing things, so then there was two; me and another girl. Then, there was me and a bunch of girls who could become Slayers. And then, all of the potentials became Slayers. So there wasn't much call for the oldest Slayer on record to keep Slaying." Buffy's voice sounded a bit shaky, like she wasn't sure of telling him all this. "From what I read, you got most of it just right in the book."  
  
"Ah, the book," Will said, feeling a bit shaky himself. Hearing her talk about her life before, even with his knowledge of the facts, was still a shock. If he hadn't lived it once, he wouldn't believe it, still. "I was just sitting here wondering what the hell I'm going to do about it."  
  
"What do you want to do?" Buffy asked.  
  
He felt his anger dim a bit at her concern. "It's tough to say. I don't think I could change things and not wreck it. And I don't know if I can withdraw it from publication without being dropped by my publisher and my agent." He paused, and decided to make the offer to her. "If you say the word, I'll yank it. You and I will be the only ones to know about it. Regardless of how things are between us, I don't want to expose your secret, even if it's a distorted version of your past."  
  
He heard Buffy inhale sharply, obviously surprised. He wondered what her response would be. Because in his heart of hearts, he wanted to publish the book. He knew it was the best thing he had ever written, and his heart let out a small cry at the idea of no one ever seeing it.   
  
"Publish it."  
  
"What? Say that again? I thought you said I could publish it," Will said, surprised.  
  
"I want you to publish it. It's good, Will. Even the little I was able to read . . . I could see how good a writer you are. I can't let you hide your talent from the world. I want you to go ahead," Buffy said, her voice sounding calm and forceful. Then, though, she paused, and sounded more hesitant when she said, "That is, if you want to publish it."  
  
"Buffy . . ." he said, still a bit shocked that she was willing to let the book be published. The Buffy he remembered had wanted a normal life, and had refused to see how special she was, how appropriate her unique life was to her personality. And the thought, that even though she now had that normal life, she was willing to be reminded of her past, interfering with her perfect new life . . .   
  
He didn't know what to say, so he just said, "Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome," she said, her voice sounding weak, almost like she was crying.   
  
"Please don't cry," Will said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. "I can tell this is hard for you. But I'm so grateful to you. I almost can't believe it."  
  
Buffy sniffed. "I mean it, Will. Please believe me--I don't want you to keep not believing me."  
  
Will frowned. "Huh? What?"  
  
He heard a gasp, and then Buffy quickly said, "I have to go. It was good talking to you, Will."  
  
"Wait, Buffy!" he said, but all he got in response was the dial tone. Will hung up the phone, and looked back at his computer, his mind still a bit dazed.   
  
What had she meant, she didn't want him to keep not believing her? Was she referring to those last moments in the Hellmouth? So did that mean she loved him? Spike, Will, whatever his name was? He shook his head, and tried to focus on his work. He had to contact his agent and let her know to go ahead with publication. He had a lot of work to do. And he couldn't think of Buffy, or how maybe she did love him. Because if he thought about it too much, he'd twist himself around to thinking that maybe he could tell her that he knew about Spike, and find out if she really did love him . . .   
  
'Not a fool for love, huh?' his mind sarcastically pointed out to him, as he tried to lose himself in his work.  
  
**  
  
That night, Will tossed and turned in bed. After finishing some revisions on the book and talking to his agent, he had decided to turn in early and get some sleep. Of course, his brain apparently decided that it needed to dwell excessively on Buffy. He found that his anger over her lie had diminished. Even if it was a month too late, she had called him, and wanted to tell him the truth only to reassure him. Obviously, she was finally starting to grow up.   
  
After staring at the ceiling for an hour, he gave up on sleep. Will got up, pulled on a pair of jeans, and went out on his deck. He lit a cigarette and stared out at the ocean, the water pale as silver in the moonlight. He listened to the waves crashing into the shore, and not for the first time, felt small and insignificant in the face of such power.  
  
"You're not that ordinary, boyo."  
  
Will's head whipped around, and he saw the man standing in the shadows against the wall of his house. The man's mouth quirked up, and he stepped into the light shed by the full moon. A bit shorter than Will, the man was dressed in nothing special, although the atrocious shirt and the hat perched on his forehead might make you look at twice at him. But then you'd spot the bright blue eyes, sparking with mischief, and you'd revise your opinion from "harmless" to "troublemaker."   
  
The man strolled over and stood next to Will, leaning forward and resting his arms on the railing. Will frowned, the man seeming familiar to him. "Do I know you?"  
  
"Oh, aye. Under some different circumstances, partly because you were answering to a different name then. And partly because I was alive then."  
  
Will looked the man over. "You're not a vampire."  
  
The man chuckled. "Not at all. Hard to be a vampire if you're half-demon." The man's face shifted, showing red eyes and blue spikes, before shaking his head and resuming his normal appearance. "My name's Doyle. Now, I'm a messenger for the Powers that Be."  
  
Suddenly, Will remembered. "The Mick-you worked with Angel."  
  
"Right in one. I had an unfortunate run-in with a giant Christmas ornament of death, and so, here I am now. The Powers use my image for interacting with those that require guidance. Or those that require some needling," Doyle said, a smile flashing over his face.   
  
"So which am I?" Will asked.   
  
"Little of both, methinks. I've been sent to give you the kick in the ass you need."  
  
Will rolled his eyes. "The world being what it is, I know this is about Buffy. Because everything is about Buffy."  
  
Doyle grinned at him. "Nah, there's a few other people that the world gets to revolve around, on occasion. You were one of them, in fact. Your stint as Little Mr. Sunshine shook up a lot of people in my neck of the woods. Big surprise for everyone."  
  
"Nice to know that I can always cause trouble, even when I'm saving the world," Will grumbled.   
  
"None of that, or else I'm going to have to invoke the name of my former employer."  
  
Will stood up straight and glared at him. "I do not brood."  
  
"Never said you did, Will my boy," Doyle said, smiling as he looked at the ocean. "But returning to the point of my visit, and since you were so kind to bring her up, let's talk about Buffy."  
  
Will mirrored Doyle's position. Gazing at the waves, he said, "She called me earlier, and she explained things a bit. But I don't know. I felt like she wanted to fix things. I can understand her not explaining about being a Slayer. Even without getting my memories back, I'd understand once she told me her feelings." He trailed off, not sure what to say next.  
  
"But that leaves the bigger problem. Does she really love you?"  
  
Will snorted. "Well, she said she loved Spike, but she waits till the absolutely last bloody minute to tell me. Shit for timing she has. So what am I supposed to think, when she says she loves me, again? How can I believe her? And you know, it's a double-edged sword, the honesty thing. How can I tell her, 'Hey, Buffy, I found out that I'm really the reincarnated soul of a vampire who killed and destroyed for a hundred years, until he fell so in love with you he got his soul back'?" Will shook his head. "Before tonight, I would have said, not telling her about what I know now would be a great revenge, if we got back together and were all happy couple. But now, I don't want to lie to her, whether we're together or not."   
  
"It's a pickle," Doyle said in agreement.   
  
Will laughed bitterly. "Try a fucking barrel of pickles, mate." He sighed, and gazed at his hands. "I just don't know, if I tell her the truth, if we can get past it. And . . . if I tell her, I think I'll always be haunted by the idea that I'm still not enough for her," he said, his voice dark and lonely. "I've never been enough for her. I've never been able to measure up to Angel. Even when I got a soul . . . what I did to her was too bad to overcome. And I knew that. I accepted it. But coming back, and being able to love her . . . it was like going to heaven." He sighed. "The problem is, we're not supposed to have heaven on earth. There were signs at the beginning, I think, but we ignored them. So Fate stepped in and upset the apple cart, and now there's no way we can ever be together again. I'm in hell, and I don't know how I'm supposed to live with it."  
  
Doyle shook his head. "You were never so melodramatic as a vampire."  
  
Will's lips tightened into something that could be said to resemble a grin. "When I was a vampire, I never was loved by Buffy. Not that I'll ever enjoy that feeling again. Things are too far gone between us."  
  
"You think?" Doyle said, glancing over towards him. "I'd say that phone call today was a good first step."  
  
Will shook his head. "No, that was just Buffy's sense of responsibility coming out. Wanted to make sure the two of us could move on, could be civil, so she did the phone call to make sure there'd be no hard feelings between us."  
  
"Could it be more that you can't bear the thought of hurting her again, so you'd rather not risk trying to reconcile?"  
  
Will didn't say anything, knowing his silence would be his answer. But he couldn't admit that once again, he had hurt Buffy. All he seemed to do was hurt her.   
  
"She's willing to forgive you," Doyle commented. "After all, she said she still loved you."  
  
"But how likely is it that she'd still feel that way, if she knew what I was? Not bloody likely."  
  
"No, pretty likely, actually."  
  
Will turned, looking at Doyle. "Huh?"  
  
Doyle straightened, gazing solemnly at Will. "She knows. Fate upsetting the apple cart? There's actually three of them, and they appeared to Buffy and restored her memories. The night before yours came back, in fact."  
  
Will's mouth opened and closed. "What? Why?"  
  
Doyle shrugged. "The Fates recognized the paradox they had allowed to develop. You weren't supposed to write a book that was so in touch with Buffy's life as a Slayer. But it happened, and it was a threat to existence. So, rather than let this world stop spinning, the Fates chose to reveal the situation to the two of you."  
  
Will stared at the man. He couldn't believe this. Couldn't understand why. Buffy knew? Everything? What the hell?  
  
"Some advice, Will?" Seeing that Will was still caught up in his own thoughts, Doyle reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. Will blinked, and focused on the other man.  
  
Doyle let his hand rest on Will's shoulder. "I've been sent by the Powers to inform you of the truth of the situation. Buffy's memories of Spike have been restored. She's aware of all the good and the bad that you did as that individual. Yet, she's realizing that whether your name is Spike, Slayer of Slayers, or Will Smythe, writer, she loves you. Your soul, your essence. She didn't call you about the book. She called you because she needed to find out if there was any hope left. Because all she has right now is hope."  
  
Will twitched, and Doyle dropped his hand and stepped away. Quickly, Will said, "What am I supposed to do with this?"  
  
Doyle cocked his head in confusion. "Well, you make a choice," he said, matter-of-factly, before he vanished.   
  
Will turned from the spot where Doyle had stood, and gazed back out at the ocean. He had thought he was finally getting his equilibrium back. Talking to Buffy and dealing with the book had made him think that they were finished. He hadn't wanted that to be the end for them, but if they had to be over, he knew that they had at least gotten beyond some of the bitterness of his rejection of her.   
  
But now . . . Even though his heart screamed for him to immediately find Buffy, confess everything, and kiss her breathless, he couldn't. Something was stopping him.   
  
He looked at the waves, and as they pounded into the shore, he realized that he had no idea of what to do. Because all he could feel was anger. Anger at the Fates, anger that once again, his life was getting jerked around, beyond his control. He had thought he had been angry at Buffy, but it was nothing compared with how furious he was now.   
  
He pushed away from the railing, and looked up at the sky. "You hear me, you bloody Fates? You can take destiny and bugger it!" he shouted. He paused, and said, "I'm my own man. I won't let you dictate my choices anymore. I'm Will Smythe! I'm Spike! And there's no one else in existence who's stubborn enough to go against you. Because if there's anything I've learned, it's that you have to be your own man."   
  
Will looked at the ocean, and then looked back at the stars. "Damn you all. I am not your pawn. This is my life-my reward. If you want to reward me, just leave me the hell alone."   
  
Will waited a moment, almost expecting some vengeful god to smite him down. The anger had fizzled as quickly as it had arisen, and he found now that he was calmer than he'd been in ages. When he realized that no lightning bolt was going to strike him for his impertinence, a smile broke across his face and he went into his house, going immediately to his study. He turned on his computer, and began pounding on the keyboard. He was starting a new book. It was going to be a love story. Inspired by his history with Buffy, and the new beginning they had made.   
  
He was finally realizing what he wanted. He wanted Buffy. And if one book had pushed her away, maybe another book could bring her back. He knew that this was logic that an eight-year-old could have seen the flaws in, but he didn't care. He just followed his heart, and let it lead him to his computer.   
  
Because then he could ignore the fact that he didn't know how their love story was going to end.  
  
End, Chapter Eight 


	10. Nine: When All Your Luck's Run Out on Yo...

What is Choice?  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.  
  
Spoilers: Through Chosen.   
  
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).  
  
Chapter title comes from the song "Sympathy" by the Goo Goo Dolls.  
  
Chapter Nine: When All Your Luck's Run Out On You  
  
Buffy slowly entered her apartment. It was Friday night, and before, she would have been getting ready to see Will, or making preparations to drive down to San Diego. Instead, her whole weekend loomed before her. Xander was wrapped up with some new girlfriend, and Willow was interviewing for a job in Chicago. Dawn was working, she thought, so it looked like it would be Buffy Alone Time tonight.  
  
Alone time sucked.   
  
Buffy moved about the apartment, straightening up a few things before she made herself some dinner. Salad and a sandwich wasn't anything special, but she made herself eat. Too often in the past, she had let her emotional upheaval get in the way of her health, and she wasn't going to go down that road again. She ate and flipped through the day's mail and the newspaper, but her mind wasn't distracted from her concerns.   
  
It had been a month since she had called Will, or Spike, or whoever he was. Calling him had been one of the hardest things she had ever done. She still wasn't quite sure where she had scraped up enough courage to do it. But she had meant what she had said to him. He could doubt that she was telling him the truth, doubt her mental stability, but she couldn't have him doubt her feelings.   
  
She closed her eyes in sadness when a chain of memories unrolled in her mind. Seeing Spike preparing for his death, and his reaction to her declaration of love. Running from him, knowing that she was leaving him to die. Standing at the edge of the crater, as her memories were erased and she thought only of herself, and she smiled, the bitch that she was.   
  
Buffy sniffed, her eyes opening. Of course, the memories with Will were just as bad, if not worse. The look on his face when she had said "I love you," how happy she had made him. The kisses they had shared, the way she had felt so complete. And then, the horror of reading his book and feeling betrayed. And the other look on his face, complete surprise and sadness.   
  
It had been forty-one days since she had seen him last. Twenty-nine since she had talked to him last. It seemed like she was spending her life counting the days, wondering how many days would pass before she could live again. Because she was scared that only Will coming back would let her live again, and that didn't seem to be in her future. So she faced the prospect of hundreds and thousands of days without him.   
  
She realized that her tears were dripping on the newspaper, and she pushed all the papers and the dishes from in front of her. She dropped her head onto her arms, and let the tears fall from her eyes. She couldn't even sob, she was so exhausted from her sadness.   
  
The sound of a slamming door made her jerk her head up, surprised to see Dawn walk through the doorway. Dawn took one look at her sister, and said, "Okay, that's it."  
  
Buffy watched in surprise as Dawn moved about the kitchen. She opened the freezer and pulled forth two cartons of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and grabbed two spoons out of the silverware drawer. Dawn came over to Buffy, and handed her a container of New York Super Fudge Chunk and a spoon. "Come," Dawn ordered. Buffy, feeling too dazed to argue, followed her sister into the living room.  
  
"Sit down," Dawn said, pointing at the sofa as she detoured down the hall. Dawn came back, holding a box of tissues, to see Buffy already digging into the ice cream. Dawn joined her on the sofa, and for a few moments, the sisters merely spooned ice cream up and looked at each other.  
  
Dawn finally stopped eating, leaving her spoon in her Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup. She said, "All right. I think it's time, don't you, Buffy?"  
  
Buffy pulled her knees up, and set the ice cream next to her. "Yeah, I think so. At the very least, I'm getting some ice cream out of this."  
  
Dawn didn't respond to the jibe, and Buffy sighed. "I'm warning you now, this is a really long story." Dawn nodded, and Buffy continued. "Once upon a time, there was one girl in the world, chosen to fight the vampires--"  
  
"I know this story!" Dawn said, bouncing a little.   
  
Buffy grinned, despite her sadness. "Hush. Anyway, in this story, you have your vampire slayer, named Buffy. And you have your vampire, named Spike. And one day they meet . . ."  
  
**  
  
Buffy gazed around the room. Tissues and empty ice cream cartons littered the couch and the floor. Dawn still had tears streaming down her cheeks, but Buffy felt calmer than she had in days.   
  
'Wow, who would have thought talking could make you feel better?' Buffy thought ironically, with a touch of amusement. She shook her head, and reached out to hug Dawn.  
  
"I know it's a lot to take in. Trust me, it's taken me this long to get everything figured out, and I still think I've only scratched the surface. I mean, note my lack of progress in figuring out how to talk to Will."  
  
Dawn sniffed, and grabbed a tissue to wipe her face. "So you know you love him?"  
  
Buffy smiled sadly. "Oh, yeah. I don't care what his name is-William the Bloody or William Smythe. His past as Spike is part of him, but I'm still gonna love him."   
  
"So what are you gonna do?"  
  
Buffy sighed. "I don't know, Dawn. I called him about a month ago, and we talked about his book. I had kinda hoped that we could start talking, you know? I mean, I wasn't going to blurt out on the phone, 'Hey, you used to be a hundred-year-old vampire who fell so in love with me, you got a soul and helped save the world, and thus died.' I don't think that's very good phone etiquette."  
  
"But since then?" Dawn asked.  
  
"Nothing. He hasn't called, and I don't know if I can call him again. I mean, I keep making the moves, and he seems open, but then, nothing."  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes at her sister. "You called him once."  
  
"Twice!" Buffy interjected.  
  
"A phone call where he breaks up with you does not count as calling to make amends. You were calling to fix the fight that first time. And the second phone call, you were all business, talking about the book, making sure he didn't hate you. You still haven't made the crucial 'calling to fix the breakup' call. You haven't called to find out if he loves you."  
  
"What in the world are you babbling about? You've been reading too much Cosmo," Buffy said, wrinkling her nose. "Or listening to way too much Stevie Wonder, which is just sad at your age."  
  
Dawn narrowed her eyes. "At any point during the last phone call, did you say, 'I love you'? 'I still want to be with you'? 'I'm miserable without you'?"  
  
Buffy squirmed a bit. "Well, not exactly. But he should have been able to tell!"  
  
"Buffy, what was the first rule about boys that you told me?"  
  
"Um, always make him pay for the first date?" Buffy said weakly.  
  
Dawn groaned. "No, Little Miss Amnesiac. 'Boys are stupid. They don't know how you feel until you tell them, and they don't know how they feel until you tell them.' Now, with that as our starting point, have you told him how you feel? No. Have you told him how he feels? No."  
  
"Well, when you put it that way," Buffy griped.  
  
Dawn got up, and went to the table where the cordless phone was located. "Buffy, I'm telling you. You've been sitting here waiting for him to show up with roses and chocolates, proclaiming his undying love for you, no matter what. You've never waited for anything in your life--you've always gone after it, and gotten it, whether it was a guy or a Chirago demon. So call him, and get him back." She carried the phone over, and held it out to Buffy.   
  
Buffy stared at the phone, and then looked up at Dawn. "What if he doesn't want to come back?"  
  
Dawn's face softened, but her voice was firm. "At least then you won't be waiting anymore. Life's too short to wait."  
  
Buffy took the phone from Dawn, and held it in her hands, just staring at it for a moment. It was scary how much importance she was placing on just a phone call. 'You're probably going to get his machine,' she thought to herself. 'Because he's out having fun with a girl who isn't crazy, who can give him what he needs.'  
  
Just as she was about to start punching in his number, the phone rang. Buffy jumped in her seat, and she stared at Dawn. "It's him, I know it!"  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. "That only happens in the movies." Buffy didn't make any motions to answer the phone, and Dawn said, "Oh, for Pete's sake," before she grabbed the phone away from Buffy. "Hello?" she said.   
  
Dawn's eyes widened, and she glanced at Buffy. Buffy felt her heart speed up, and she felt like she was going to throw up.   
  
"Hi, Will," Dawn said, her voice guarded. "Yes, she's here." Dawn pulled the phone away from her ear, and started handing it to Buffy, but then pulled it back to her ear. "Listen, you jerk, if you hurt her, I promise you, I know people who can make your life an utter vale of misery. And I'm one of them. Understand?"  
  
Whatever Will said obviously had satisfied Dawn, because she handed the phone to Buffy, and then went into her room, closing the door behind her.  
  
Buffy took a deep breath and lifted the phone to her ear. "Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
Buffy nearly sighed. His voice was just so . . . good. Hearing it float across the phone lines to her ears was like listening to heaven. She somehow managed to make her mouth work, despite the feelings swirling through her. "Haven't heard from you in a while."  
  
He cleared his throat, and said, "Um, I know. And I'm sorry about that. Just . . . something came up, and before I knew it, weeks had gone by."   
  
She didn't know how she felt. She thought he sounded a bit ashamed, but she thought she also heard excitement in his voice.  
  
"How's your mom doing?" she asked, mentally shuddering as she fell back onto "safe" topics to keep the conversation going.  
  
"She's good, really good. I talked to her yesterday, and she's planning to come down and visit me soon. How's Dawn?"  
  
"Other than making threats, she's been doing well. She's all set to start at at UCLA in the fall."  
  
"Still planning on creating a whole new system for landscape design?"  
  
"Yes," Buffy said, trying not to scream in frustration that they were talking about her sister and not them. "I can't watch Ground Force on BBCAmerica without listening to her numerous critiques."  
  
Will laughed a bit, and she felt her heart shriveling up. 'Oh, please please please, tell me you love me,' she thought.  
  
Suddenly, she couldn't take this anymore. "Will, I don't think you called me so we could chat about our relatives. I . . . I think you know how I feel. I still feel that way. And if you don't feel the same, or don't think you could feel that way again, please just hang up now and let me get over this."   
  
She bit her lip, knowing that she said too much, but she couldn't bear this agony of not knowing.  
  
She could hear him breathing, and finally, after ten seconds that felt like ten years, he said, "I can't tell you, Buffy."  
  
"What?" she said, shock permeating her voice. "You can't tell me? What the hell does that mean?"  
  
"Look, I can't. Not yet. All right? I think this talking on the phone thing isn't working for us. I'm coming up to LA next weekend. Could we go out to dinner?"  
  
"Are you sure?" Buffy asked, trying to reign in the hostility that was masking her fear.  
  
"Yes. Can I pick you up on Saturday at six?"  
  
"That's fine," Buffy said.   
  
"Good," he said, sounding a bit relieved. "Buffy, I know you want more from me. And . . . I want to give you everything I can, but there's just something I have to take care of first. But I'll explain everything on Saturday."  
  
Buffy sighed. "I hope so, Will. Because . . . I can't do this for much longer."  
  
"I know, pet. I'll see you on Saturday."  
  
Buffy hung up the phone, more confused than she'd been before. He couldn't tell her how he felt? What was this mysterious "thing" that was taking up all his attention?  
  
Dawn popped her head out of her room. "So? I don't spy any tears, or hear any angry screams."  
  
"That's because there's no signs for when you're so confused you don't know which end is up," Buffy said wryly, rubbing her hand over her face. "He's taking me out to dinner on Saturday."  
  
Dawn's face lit up. "And?"  
  
"And nothing. I was a big old girl and basically said, 'Oh, please tell me you love me' and he said, and I quote, 'I can't tell you, Buffy.' Kept talking about something going on that he had to take care of first." Buffy shook her head. "And guys say WE'RE confusing."  
  
"But hey, progress--you're going to see him. That's a definite step in the right direction."  
  
"I guess," Buffy said. Then, panic crossed her face, and she looked at Dawn. "What am I gonna wear?"  
  
Dawn looked at Buffy, and in unison, the two girls dashed to Buffy's room to perform an emergency wardrobe inventory.  
  
**  
  
Buffy was sure that some wars had been planned and implemented with less thought and preparation than she'd used for her dinner with Will. She'd spent part of the afternoon in the salon, getting her hair and nails done. She was wearing one of her favorite dresses, one that Will had once said made her look like a mermaid: a pale green dress with spaghetti straps. She wore new earrings and a necklace that her mother had given her. Dawn had contributed a gorgeous clutch that matched her silver sandals perfectly.   
  
In short, she sure hoped he wasn't taking her to KFC for dinner.   
  
"Stop fidgeting," Dawn said. "You look wonderful. He's gonna take one look at you, and after not seeing you for all this time, he's gonna fall head over heels for you."  
  
Buffy stared at her hair in the hall mirror. "Why did I let the hairdresser talk me into highlights? It looks like a four-year-old with Parkinson's applied these."  
  
Dawn pulled her sister away from the mirror, and put her hands on Buffy's shoulders. "Buffy, listen to me. You are a beautiful, caring, intelligent woman. Will would be an idiot if he can't see that. And we both know he's not an idiot. So remember how much you love him, and don't get scared and lash out."  
  
"I never do that."  
  
Dawn merely raised her eyebrow.  
  
"Well, hardly ever," Buffy said. At Dawn's expression of disbelief, Buffy groaned and said, "Fine, fine, I'll remember."  
  
"All of it, Buffy," Dawn said, her face serious.  
  
Buffy smiled softly at her sister. "I'll remember, Dawn. You're the best." She pulled Dawn in for a hug, and once again gave thanks for Dawn's presence in her life.  
  
The doorbell rang, and Buffy's nerves returned in full force. But she closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Then, with a hand squeeze from Dawn, she went and opened the door.  
  
He had bleached his hair. She felt her jaw drop open in surprise, feeling like she was looking at a ghost. Instead of the casual preppy style he'd worn before, now he was all in black: pants, silk shirt, and topping it all off, a leather duster. He stood before her, looking cocky and powerful, yet she could still see those aspects that seemed like Will. She could see his fear and insecurity, shining through the bleach and the attitude.  
  
He might look like Spike. He might act like Will. But she knew she loved him.   
  
She felt tears well up in her eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. It was so hard, to see him standing before her, looking so much like Spike, when she was the only person on Earth who knew what Spike looked like. How much goodness Spike had held within himself, how much the world owed him. She didn't understand why he looked different. Her brain was still trying to process the shock of seeing Will's personality clothed in Spike's look. She wondered if it was a sign from the Fates, giving her their blessing.  
  
She stood in the doorway, her hand still on the door, taking it all in. Then, she realized he was standing on the doorstep, waiting for her to either invite him in or step outside. "Oh! Come in."  
  
Will smiled at her. "Thanks. How are you doing?"   
  
"Good, I'm good. How are you?"  
  
Will shuffled his feet. "All right, I guess."  
  
"You changed your hair," Buffy said, before clapping a hand over her mouth.  
  
Will laughed. "Yeah, felt like I needed a change." His eyes locked with hers, and the smile faded from his face. "You look beautiful."   
  
Buffy blushed. "Thank you." She looked around, and realized that Dawn was standing in the hall, watching this scene. "Um, Dawn . . . "  
  
Will lifted his hand. "Hi, Dawn. Remembering your warning."  
  
Dawn nodded. "You should. I like the coat. Buffy, I'll see you later." She walked down the hall, and Buffy nearly raced after her and told her she had to stay, so that Buffy wouldn't do anything stupid.   
  
Buffy took another deep breath. No one was going to be able to fix their problems, except the two of them.   
  
She faced Will. "Shall we?"  
  
Will nodded, and as she walked past him, she felt his hand touch the small of her back briefly. The slight contact sent tingles through her, and she felt her knees weaken.  
  
'Oh, God,' she thought. 'I can forget all the bad stuff when he touches me.'  
  
They were quiet as they walked out of her apartment building and got in his car. She noticed that his car, for once, was clean--before, it had always been littered with cigarette butts, fast food wrappers, and CDs.   
  
She gazed out the window to prevent herself from staring at him. Taking in all the changes that didn't really change him that much. One thing she had realized, in the time away from him, was that Will wasn't that different from Spike. At least, the Spike she had seen at the end: a caring, tender man, but a man through and through. Will wasn't some prissy wimp, soft or ineffectual. He was capable of standing up for himself, and for what he believed in. He had a bit of a temper, and wasn't above being crude to make his point.  
  
All the personality quirks that she loved about him were always there, whether he was Will or Spike. And, there were things about him that drove her crazy, made her want to strangle him. But he wouldn't be him if he didn't drive her out of her mind every once in a while.  
  
At some points during those weeks apart, she had considered telling Will what she had discovered about him. But she couldn't help but fear that there would be a repeat of what happened when she finally had to reveal her past to him. He wouldn't believe her. How could he? It was so completely amazing, to consider the idea that you had been a powerful, century-old vampire who redeemed himself through the power of love. It'd make a great movie, but as reality?  
  
Even more importantly, she wouldn't do that to Will. Give him all that pain and sadness that he wouldn't be able to handle. She couldn't torture him like that.   
  
She moved her shoulders up and down, trying to dispel the feeling of dread she felt. She looked over towards him, and felt a smile blooming on her lips. It was amazing, how just looking at him made her happy.   
  
  
  
She realized that he was glancing over at her, and he gave her a quick smile in return. "What's put that smile on your face?" he asked, his voice curious.   
  
"Oh, nothing. Happy non-thoughts."   
  
He shook his head. "Amazing, how you butcher the English language."  
  
"Yes, while you speak the Queen's English, Mr. Sod This."  
  
"Well, I'm sure the Queen says that on occasion," Will retorted, his mouth flashing in a smile.  
  
She smiled back, and said, "So, where are we going?"  
  
"I know this place. Thought it'd be nice--near the water, with great seafood."  
  
Buffy's mind flashed to the restaurant they had eaten at the night they had first made love. She closed her eyes, and tried not to give away her thoughts. "Sounds great."  
  
The rest of the drive was silent, and when they pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant, Buffy nearly sighed with pleasure. The restaurant was small, romantic-looking, and the smells wafting from inside made her mouth water. Will came around and opened her car door, and she smiled at him, impressed with the little gestures he was making. His hand once again rested against her back. As they walked inside, she caught a glimpse of the two of them in a mirror, and she thought, 'We look good together.'  
  
Her confidence renewed, Buffy smiled up at Will and followed the waiter to their table.   
  
**  
  
She didn't feel like smiling anymore.  
  
They had gone through appetizer, salad, and entree, and Will was barely talking to her. She kept grasping for things to talk about, and she'd only get monosyllabic answers out of him. She tried talking about politics, new movies, and about some of her stranger customers. Nothing seemed to get him talking.  
  
She sighed as dessert was placed in front of her. Chocolate cake. Just like last time. She wanted to cry over how different that night had been from this one.   
  
Buffy picked up her fork, and stabbed her cake. She shoveled a piece into her mouth, and looked over at Will. He was toying with his cake, his attention focused on the table. Frustrated beyond belief, Buffy dropped her fork on her plate.  
  
"Will, look at me."  
  
At the sound of her voice, his head whipped up, and she felt herself lose focus for a moment when his bluer-than-blue eyes locked with hers. She gave herself a quick shake, and pressed forward. "I thought we were having dinner together so we could talk. But you've barely said two words to me." She paused, and felt her voice tremble a little when she said, "Has this been a mistake?"  
  
Will sighed, and reached across the table. His fingers rested on the top of her hand, and she automatically turned her hand over so he could wrap his hand around hers. "I'm sorry. It's just that every time I've tried to say something, it sounds so trite and stupid in my head."  
  
"I know how that feels," she said softly. "Why do you think I've been babbling all evening? I'm trying to find the right words."  
  
Will gave her a slight grin. "Writer, pet. Words are supposed to come easily to me."  
  
"That can't be the case all the time. You must have had writer's block sometimes," Buffy said.  
  
"Yeah, once or twice," Will admitted.  
  
"So how'd you work through it?"  
  
"Lots of staring out the window, trying to avoid the computer."  
  
A silence fell between them, their hands their only connection. Buffy gazed at their hands, and finally said, "What if we say the thing we regret most, about what happened between us? You go first."  
  
She could see Will's throat contract as he swallowed, and he said, in a thick voice, "What I said to you, that morning when you called me. Especially the last thing I said." He looked at her, his eyes sincere. "You didn't deserve that, love."  
  
Buffy bit her lip, her heart thudding at his admission. "It was how you felt at the time, Will. Even I know I came off as a complete nut, not to mention the Empress of Bad Timing."  
  
Will shook his head. "Still doesn't mean I don't regret it, Buffy."  
  
She was silent for a moment, and then said, "Not telling you about my past. We had known each other long enough, and with the . . . feelings I have for you, there's no excuse for me to keep that from you. I guess I didn't realize how much it affects me still. Your book clued me in to that one."  
  
Will nodded, his eyes focused on their hands. He brought his other hand over, and began tracing circles on the back of her hand. She closed her eyes, and a breathy sigh issued from her lips.   
  
She opened her eyes to find his gaze roving over her face, taking in every detail. Suddenly, he said, "Do you want to go take a walk on the beach?"  
  
Buffy nodded, and he flashed a quick smile at her as he called the waiter over for their check.  
  
After paying the bill, Will rose from his chair, and helped her out of hers. He took her hand in his as they walked out of the restaurant and headed towards the beach. Once they hit the sand, Will dropped his coat, which he had been carrying over his arm, on the sand, and kicked off his shoes. She followed his lead, leaving her sandals and tucking her purse under his coat. She looked at him for a moment, and then extended her hand towards him. He grasped it, and she couldn't help smiling at him.   
  
They walked along the shoreline for a few moments, heading away from the lights and noise. The waves and their feet pushing against the sand were soon the only sounds.   
  
Buffy felt happiness swelling up inside her like a bubble. She thought this was going to be so hard, full of tears and uncomfortable moments. But they seemed to fit back together, like a key into a lock. Their steps slowed, and soon, they stopped. Buffy stared at the ocean, and then turned to look at Will. She smiled at him again, wanting him to know that his presence was all she needed to be happy.  
  
The smile that flashed across his face was like the sun breaking through a cloud. He took a step towards her, and lifted his other hand towards her face. Her eyes fluttered shut when he rubbed his thumb across her cheek.  
  
"Buffy?" he said in a quiet voice. "Can I kiss you?"  
  
She opened her eyes, and tried to put all her feelings in her eyes. She lifted her chin, and angled her face towards his. He bent down, and their lips met.  
  
She sighed into the kiss, his mouth tasting brand-new yet not. Her lips parted beneath his, and his tongue slipped into her mouth. She grasped his shoulders, needing something to hang on to, needing him.   
  
He moved away from her mouth, and ran his mouth over her cheek, towards her ear. "Buffy . . . " he murmured.  
  
She let her eyes close. "Oh, Spike."  
  
As soon as she realized what she had said, she jerked away from him, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as if she could cram the words back past her lips.   
  
Will looked at her. His face was tragic in its lack of expression. "So that's how it is," he said, softly. "Guess they were wrong when they said you loved me, regardless of my name. You say his name when I'm kissing you."  
  
Buffy's mind was addled from the kiss and from what had just happened. "What? Who are they? And you don't understand, Will . . . let me explain. You're Spike."  
  
Will snorted. "I know. But am I, really?"  
  
Buffy frowned in confusion. "Wait, you know? How is that possible? And oh my God. How are you handling all of it?"   
  
She stepped towards him, wanting to touch him, reassure herself that he was here with her, sane and not broken from the weight of all those memories, good and bad. Instead, he took a step back, and said, "Why should you care? You've got Spike back, just inconveniently in the body of Will."  
  
Buffy nearly let her anger take over. She wanted to give him a good slap against the side of his head, tell him to stop being so sensitive, and go back to kissing her. "Will, please. It's not like that at all. You're making things too complicated."  
  
"Oh, I don't think I'm making it any more complicated than it is, Buffy. You want Spike, and you think you can have him now. Excuse me for being a bit concerned about those parts of me that don't fall in line with the way Spike thinks."  
  
Okay, so anger was starting to win out. "Listen to me, you idiot. You might think you've got some kind of wacky multiple personality going on, but you don't. Whether you call some aspects of yourself 'Will' and others 'Spike', they're all you. And I don't care who's who. I just know that I love you, no matter what your name is."  
  
Will sighed. "I'm sorry, Buffy . . . I just don't know . . . "  
  
"Bullshit," she retorted. "You know who you are. Why else would you bleach your hair, and get a leather duster, but still wear clothes that are like Will's? You're still writing! Spike wouldn't have been caught dead writing anything--those memories hurt too much for him to think about writing. Don't you see, Will? Spike isn't taking you over. He's already you."  
  
Will stared at her in surprise, and then stalked away from her, moving quickly. She nearly sank down on the ground, torn between screaming and crying. But something within her told her to follow him. He had a good head start on her, but she managed to catch up with him by the time he had reached his coat and their shoes. But he ignored them, and headed towards his car.  
  
Ignoring the way the paved lot scratched against her bare feet, Buffy kept after him, and paused at the side of the car as he roughly pulled his keys out of his pocket and opened the trunk of his car. He pulled forth an accordion file, and for a minute, she felt a flash of fear. Was he still upset over her reaction to his book? Was this some kind of test? Would he only be satisfied if she made it through his book?  
  
He turned towards her, a wild, manic look in his eyes. "I wrote another book. It's for you," he said, thrusting the accordion file at her. "I want you to read it. I'll take you home, and you can call me when you finish it."  
  
"Will, I don't understand," she said, clutching the file to her chest.  
  
"Read the book," he said emphatically. She stared after him as he sprinted back to the beach, picked up their things, and came back. She was silent during the drive back to her apartment. When they arrived, she paused for a moment, and looked at Will.   
  
"I wish you could talk to me, instead of asking me to read this, Will."  
  
A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn't say anything. Buffy sighed, gathered her things and the file, and got out of his car. She walked slowly, turning once before she entered the building. Will had parked by a spotlight, and she could see into the car.  
  
And she could see the tears running down his cheeks. She wanted so much to go to him, kiss away those tears and make him talk to her. For once, she thought she might be able to say the right words; she was able to do the talking thing, finally, thanks to him. But she knew that you both had to talk, and clearly, he didn't want to. She turned away and walked inside, her steps growing faster so she could get to her apartment and into her bedroom before she let herself break down.  
  
End, Chapter Nine 


	11. Ten: So Kiss Me and Smile for Me

What is Choice?  
  
Chapter Ten: So Kiss Me and Smile For Me  
  
Buffy entered her bedroom calmly. Thankfully, Dawn had left for a babysitting job, so she wasn't there to see her sister enter the apartment and move stiffly towards her room.   
  
She deposited the file on her bed, and methodically took off her dress and hung it up, placing her shoes in their spot on the floor within the closet. Her earrings and necklace were placed in her jewelry box, the purse laid on her dresser to be returned to Dawn in the morning.   
  
Buffy caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, dressed only in the scant lingerie she had chosen in the wild hopes that Will would be seeing it. She stared at her hands, wringing together, and tried not to let her tears fall. She slipped into her pajamas, and sat on her bed, staring at the accordion file.   
  
"I hope that this will all be worth it in the end, Will," she said softly. "If it's not, I'm gonna kick your ass." Despite her bravado, she knew that if anyone could hear her, they'd know how she really felt.   
  
She leaned forward and drew the file towards her. With hands that shook only slightly, she opened the file and pulled forth the first batch of papers. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to prepare herself for what she might find.   
  
She opened her eyes, and read the title page.   
  
"What is Choice? By William Smythe."   
  
Further down the page, she spotted another sentence, in smaller type. She brought the paper up to her face, so she could read it, and couldn't help the small smile that drifted across her face.   
  
"For Buffy. To answer her questions."  
  
She flipped the page face-down, and started reading. And she felt her heart pick up speed as she read.  
  
**  
  
Will sat in his car for a few moments after Buffy vanished into her building, knowing that she spotted the tears on his face but not caring. He had just put all his faith into his abilities with the written word, and her reaction to those words.  
  
Considering how she'd taken it the last time, he wasn't sure if he wasn't dumber than a sack of hammers. Or a glutton for punishment.  
  
Will sighed, and started his car. What he had said in the restaurant was exactly how he felt. Talking was usually so simple for him, but not this time. Not with her, not when he was trying to explain all the still-contradictatory feelings inside him. After the visit from Doyle, it was like he had been possessed. All he could think about was writing out their story. Putting down on paper all the feelings he had for Buffy, exploring all the options, and hoping that she could see how much he loved her from his words.   
  
Perhaps it was a coward's way out. Will saw it as a way to present his feelings with few chances of bollocksing it up.   
  
'Of course, she wanted to talk to you, wanker,' he thought to himself. 'Maybe she won't be so impressed by your pretty phrases, and just wants you to be open and honest with her by opening your mouth and just letting what you feel come out.'  
  
Will rolled his eyes heavenwards. The insecurity that Dru had created within him raised its head at the most inopportune times. And of course, there was the natural human tendency to worry more about the ones that mattered. He sometimes pondered what would have happened if he had picked up the phone that night, instead of turning on his computer.  
  
It was too late now to know, of course. But as he drove away, he couldn't help wondering what Buffy was feeling at this moment.  
  
**  
  
She read quickly, devouring his words. The writing was unlike anything she'd ever read before. It was so different from what she'd read of his first book. That one, while probably technically brilliant, seemed to maintain a bit of emotional distance. She hadn't felt very engaged in the story or the characters. Of course, that could also be because it was more like reading her diary than reading a work of fiction.   
  
But this . . . she couldn't believe how much each word touched her heart, her soul. The language was so beautiful, full of simple truths and heart-felt emotion. Tears blurred her vision, and she found she had to pause more than once to regain control of her emotions before she could continue.  
  
She knew that he had this all in him. She had been struck more than once by his talent with words. The way they could banter back and forth, trading quips at lightning speed, had been one of her favorite things about their relationship. The fact that she could match him, even best him, had always given her a huge burst of confidence. And those times when he would look at her, and let slip a tender phrase, or a sentence of perfect beauty, she'd always melted.  
  
She read and read, ignoring the time as the night gave way to dawn. When she turned over the last sheet of paper, she was shocked to look at her clock and see that it was 7:30 in the morning. She yawned, but sleep was the last thing from her mind. She stood, and stretched, before padding out of her room.  
  
In the kitchen, she found Dawn eating cereal and reading the newspaper. She looked up at Buffy. "Hey--sleep late?" Then she did a double-take, and said, "Or at all?"  
  
Buffy shook her head, rubbing her eyes. "No, I didn't."  
  
Dawn looked at Buffy, and when she didn't say anything further said, "So? Spill. What happened?"  
  
Buffy sat down at the table, and looked at Dawn. "I thought we were working everything out. And then, when we kissed--"  
  
"You kissed!" Dawn cheered.  
  
"Don't get all excited," Buffy said brokenly. "I called him Spike."  
  
Dawn deflated like a kid who just lost her balloon. "Oh, no."  
  
Buffy nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "I can always find a new way to mess things up."  
  
"Buffy, no," Dawn said, reaching across the table and resting her hand over Buffy's.  
  
"Yeah, well," Buffy said, a bit angrily, as she pulled away from Dawn. "I called him Spike, and he reacted just as you'd expect. I tried to be logical, and then I got angry and told him basically that he was an idiot but I still loved him. He didn't seem to hear that, though."  
  
"So why the lack of sleep? I mean, you couldn't have spent all night staring at the walls in your room."  
  
"No, I had a reason to stay up," Buffy said, running her hands through her hair. "Will gave me a book to read. A book he wrote. And it's about us-or, me and Spike, and then me and Will. About how we fell in love and how it made him feel, how it changed him and made him a better man."  
  
Buffy stared at the tabletop, and raised eyes to Dawn that were shimmering with tears. "I don't understand him. He said I should read the book to understand, but I don't. If he can write such beautiful things, and make me feel so much, why can't he just talk to me? He's never had this problem before--he always wanted to 'chat things out' when I didn't want to. Why does he suddenly not want to talk?"  
  
Dawn gazed at Buffy, and said, "I don't know, Buffy. After all, you know him best. In all his incarnations. Maybe that's the key to figuring this all out."  
  
Buffy nodded. "I think you may be right. It's just a matter of being able to figure out Will, who's like Spike, but not really. Should be easy," she said, weakly.  
  
"You'll figure it out, Buffy. After all, you love him. You'll find the right way."  
  
Buffy let her gaze drift off into space as she let Dawn's statement roll around in her brain, like a pebble in a stream. And as she sat there, she started to develop an idea.   
  
**  
  
Will drove aimlessly for hours, trying to put off the inevitable. As each hour rolled over on the dashboard clock, he thought, 'An hour closer to finding out. Closer to knowing what she feels. Closer to being alone again. And it's all your fault.'  
  
Finally, he didn't trust himself anymore, and he pulled into the parking lot at a small beach. He got out, and walked towards the sand. He didn't know why he was torturing himself like this. He was putting so much on the line, and instead of fighting, he was slinking away, hoping for the best. That wasn't like him.  
  
He stared at the water for a moment, before sitting down. He pulled his knees up, and hugged them to his chest. The sky behind him was that dark purple that was growing lighter every moment, as the sun rose. Of course, he was looking toward the west, so the sky stayed dark even with the increasing light. It suited his mood. If he only could accept what was behind him, he could have light. Instead, he chose to face forward, and risk the dark.   
  
"Hello."  
  
Will looked over his shoulder, surprised to hear a voice. Standing behind him was a slim woman, with long dark hair. For a moment, he was reminded of the cheerleader that had worked with Angel, but as she took a step towards him, he realized this woman was less pretty, but more spiritual-looking. Not to mention dressed much worse--was she really wearing flip-flops with a tulle skirt?   
  
She smiled at him, and asked in a voice tinged with a Canadian accent, "Mind if I sit down?"  
  
Will shook his head, confused. The woman sat down next to him, and mimicked his position. They sat in silence for moments, the waves the only noise. The sky grew ever lighter, even in front of them, and Will felt a sense of peace filling him for the first time in weeks.  
  
The woman next to him sighed, and he looked over at her. "Makes you think, doesn't it?" he said, his voice quiet.  
  
She nodded, and smiled a little. "Whenever I feel like I don't know why I do the things I do, I come here and watch the ocean. It helps, every time."   
  
"Yeah. Know what you mean," Will said. They stared back out at the water, and gradually, Will felt his legs straightening out, his need to stay curled up within himself receeding. He breathed deeply, taking in the saltish air, and feeling some of the sun's warmth on his back.  
  
"There's this girl," Will said, pausing when he realized he'd started speaking. "I love her so much, but we've got a long history between us. One that wasn't very good. We . . . we had made a fresh start, and it was so good between us; it was like the past hadn't happened at all," he said, biting his lip at the omissions he had to make in talking about Buffy.   
  
"What happened?" the woman asked, her voice tinged with a respectful curiosity.  
  
"Well, you know what they say about 'the past coming back to haunt you'? It did, in a big way. So now we're so careful of the elephant in the room, we can't solve anything between us. And I had a chance last night, and I blew it. I gave her something I wrote and asked her to read that, instead of talking to her like she wanted." Will blew out a breath. "And now I'm scared that there's no coming back from this. That we'll continue in this pattern of being too close and too far, and never just right." He grimaced. "She's Goldilocks, and I'm always the wrong sodding bear."  
  
The woman rested the side of her head on her knees, turning her chocolate-brown eyes on him. "Do you actually feel that way? That there's no hope?"  
  
Will shrugged. "I'll always have hope. But hope for the two of us to work this out? That's a bit in short supply."   
  
  
  
"I don't believe that there's ever something that you can't come back from. There's always hope," she said firmly. "It's just a matter of how much you're willing to work. How much you're willing to suffer in order to get the reward."  
  
Will felt his anger rising a bit. "Awfully preachy of you, love. How would you know what's happened between us? Maybe I'm an abusive bastard, trying to find a way to apologize for the latest bruises. Maybe she's been cheating on me and I can't decide if I want to take the risk of it happening again. How can you advise me?"  
  
She bore his words calmly. "Because I doubt that's the situation. You're just two normal people stumbling around as blindly as anyone else on this planet. Your past is extraordinary, I'm sure, but it's the past. It's not a matter of making a new start, it's a matter of continuing the story. Seeing if you can make the choice."  
  
"And what choice is that, love?" he retorted testily.   
  
She gazed at him, and made sure that his eyes were fixed on her before speaking. "The choice to suffer for love, because love is the greatest reward." She paused, and reached out to lay her fingers against his forehead. "You know that better than anyone: the fool for love that was William and Spike, but is now all Will."  
  
When she touched him, he felt an odd jolt of clarity, like he was in the middle of an epiphany. He jerked away, surprised, and the feeling faded, grew hazy. She looked at him, her eyes seeming to know everything. He stared back at her, and then, her last words sunk in. "Huh? How did you know my name?"  
  
Before she could say anything, his cell phone rang. Will looked down at his pockets, pulling it out and glancing back at the woman to ask her to excuse him, only to be shocked to see that she had disappeared. He gazed at the spot where she had sat, no sign that she had even been there, as his phone rang.  
  
Finally, he snapped out of his trance and clicked the phone on. "Hello?"  
  
"Um, hi."  
  
He felt his heart flip when he realized who it was. "Buffy?"  
  
"Yes, it's me. Although I don't know what to call you," she said softly, hesitantly.   
  
"Um, Will. Still Will."  
  
"Will," she said, her voice sounding sweeter than summer berries. "I was hoping you could come over tonight. I read the book."  
  
"You did?" he said, feeling a wave of relief wash over him, but before he even had a chance to get used to that, his nerves started jangling.   
  
"Yes, I did. Since I did what you asked, I thought we could talk some tonight. For once, I think I've gotten the hang of this talking thing that so many people rave about," she said, her voice bemused. Despite her attempt at levity, he couldn't help but feel that there was a layer of sadness overlying her words, making anything she said seem incredibly poignant.   
  
He coughed, trying to speak past the lump in his throat. "Seems only fair," he said. "What time should I come over?"  
  
"Around 8, all right?"  
  
"That's fine," he said. He paused, not wanting to hang up quite yet. "Buffy?"  
  
"Yes, Will?" she said, sounding like she was trying to keep her voice calm.   
  
"I . . . " His voice trailed off, afraid of saying what he felt and not wanting to do this over the phone. "I . . . I'll see you tonight, then."  
  
He heard her sigh softly, before saying, "Bye."  
  
He hung up the phone, and slipped it into his pocket. He looked out towards the water one more time. The sky was completely light now, and he found he preferred it that way. Once, the dark was his world. It filled his present, his past, and his future. Now, though, the brightness of day seemed to be all he wanted.   
  
The woman's words came back to him, talking about a choice. As he gazed at the sunlight bouncing off the waves, he realized that he knew what his choice was. She had called him a fool for love. He had thought before that he'd gotten past that, but he hadn't, not really. Not till now, because he wasn't a fool for love anymore.   
  
He was only a man in love.  
  
**  
  
Buffy gazed around the living room, taking in all the details. Together with Dawn and Xander, she had spent all day preparing for tonight, and she could only hope that their preparation wasn't in vain.   
  
Because it would hurt much too much if it was.  
  
She checked the clock, and sighed when she realized it was nearly time. Now that the moment was here, she felt so tired. She had made herself take a nap earlier, but she was so exhausted from the emotional upheaval of the past day and a half that she wasn't sure if she was completely lucid. She had spent most of the day moving around like she was in a dream, a fairy princess asleep.   
  
She had created the perfect setting, and she could only hope her prince charming would see it, realize what it meant, and bring her back to life with a kiss.   
  
Buffy gazed off, her eyes unfocused, for a few moments, before the doorbell snapped her out of her trance. She took a deep breath. Dawn had gone to spend the night at Willow's, so the apartment was hers. For better or for worse, things would be settled here, tonight.  
  
She moved towards the door, her steps quiet on the carpet. She pulled open the door, and smiled at Will. No matter what, he would always be the most handsome man she'd ever seen. So different from the type of man she thought she'd fall in love with, but he was the only one who made her believe in fate, in the idea that there really was someone that had been created just for her.   
  
She watched his eyes take in her outfit, looking a bit puzzled at her choice. A pair of jeans, even if they were her favorite pair, and a cream-colored blouse, while attractive, wasn't exactly romantic, she knew. But there was a reason for it. A reason for every choice she'd made in shaping this evening. In this case, it was the outfit she had been wearing when she met him.  
  
"Hello, Will," she said, standing aside so he could enter the apartment.   
  
"Hi," he said, looking a bit nervous.   
  
She looked down at his hands, at the bouquet of wildflowers clutched there. "Are those for me?" she asked, trying to keep her expression calm, neutral.  
  
He followed her gaze, and realized she was talking about the flowers. "Oh, yeah." He held them out to her, and she accepted them. Carrying them into the kitchen, she pulled a vase out of a cabinet, filled it with water, and arranged the flowers in them. She came back to the hallway, carrying the vase, and said to Will, "Follow me," as she walked towards the living room.  
  
Buffy felt her breath speed up as she entered the living room. With Xander's help, she had moved most of her furniture out of the living room, leaving only a beat-up chair and an old loveseat that she had picked up at Goodwill that morning. The television was sitting on a small stand in a corner near the chair, while a long table ran along one side of the room. The windows were draped in gauzy white fabric that made the moonlight shining through seem even more etheral.   
  
And lighting the room were dozens of candles. The light flickered, casting shadows on the walls and giving a golden glow. Buffy moved into the room and placed the flowers on the table. She nodded, and said, "Yes, this looks right."  
  
She turned, and saw that Will was still standing in the doorway, looking around in surprise and disbelief. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and finally said, "It's . . . you recreated the . . . ?"  
  
Buffy nodded. "The crypt, yes."  
  
Will stared at her, dumbstruck. "Why?"  
  
"Lots of reasons, actually," she said, sitting down on the loveseat. "Would you like to sit down?"  
  
He didn't move for a moment, and then he shook himself, as if he couldn't believe the turn of events. But he moved, and sat down on the chair. He rested his hands on his knees, still looking around the room.   
  
"Will?" she said, feeling scared that she had lost him. That he wasn't going to understand what she wanted to say, prefering to see the surroundings and decide that she wanted Spike. But that couldn't be further from the truth. Because she just wanted him. Will, and Spike, and even the very small bits that she guessed were William. They were all there, but you couldn't separate some things and call them Spike, or say that some quirk was the William coming out in him. If you did that, you'd just have less of a person, and that was the last thing she wanted.  
  
"Will?" she said again, finally getting his attention. He looked at her, confusion and a little anger in his gaze. She took a deep breath, and started talking. "You think that I want Spike, correct?"  
  
He nodded, silently.   
  
"Well, in some ways, I do want Spike." She held up her hand, cutting him off before he started speaking. "Let me say this, all right?" He grimaced, but sat back in the chair.   
  
She continued. "Like I said, in some ways, I do want Spike. You probably think that he's your courage, your sex appeal, that little tinge of danger that I want, right?" He nodded, and she smiled at him. "Well, those were things that Spike had, yes. But they're also things Will has. That you have. I saw all that in you the first time I saw you, standing on the doorstep of Rich's house. I knew that here was a man who was a little dangerous, but it was the good kind of dangerous. And I wanted that."   
  
She gazed at the floor for a moment. "You think I want Spike. You think that Will isn't enough for me. What if I'm worrying about the same thing?" She looked up at Will, and saw the confusion on his face. "What if I'm worried that you want the other Buffy?" she explained.   
  
Will's eyebrows shot up. "What? Oh, love, I just want you."  
  
"Then why don't you believe me, when I say the same thing?" she asked, sadly. "Is it because of what happened to us before? You think I'm never going to love you; that you're always going to be left out in the cold, wanting me, loving me no matter what, while I keep using you because I'm 'not ready for you not to be here'," she said, repeating her words to him.   
  
She gripped her hands, trying to keep her thoughts straight, trying not to just break down. She had to see this through. "I don't like the Buffy I was before. I don't see much that was admirable in her. But you do--you loved that Buffy. And that Buffy loved you. She may have waited till the absolutely last moment to tell you, but she did. For months before she told you."   
  
Buffy took ahold of her courage one more time, and raised her eyes to his. His face was like an open book to her. Love was shining out of his eyes, as well as a good dose of fear and sadness. "She loved you when she came to you in your crypt, that last time before it was destroyed. But she couldn't make the choice to love you openly, and she suffered for it. And what she suffered, you suffered ten times more."  
  
Buffy rose from her seat, and took the two steps towards his chair, and kneeled in front of him. He leaned forward, his face close to hers. She sniffed, and ran her fingers through his hair. "She loved you then. Just like I love you now. And it's not because you remind me of Spike, or that I'm trying to recreate something that didn't get a chance to exist. I made my apartment into the crypt, because we had to spend some time there. We never really got a chance to finish things before as Buffy and Spike."  
  
She reached out, and took his hands in hers. She stood, and pulled him to his feet. She looked up at him, and she knew that her heart was in her eyes. "Tell me you love me?" she said, hoping he'd remember. Hoping he'd follow her lead.   
  
He gazed at her, and she bit her lip, feeling each second pass as slowly as a century. Finally, he said, "I love you."  
  
She nearly closed her eyes in relief, but she forced herself to keep her eyes on him, forced herself to follow her plan. "Tell me you want me?"  
  
"I always want you," he breathed out.  
  
In the memory, she had pulled him onto a sarcophogus, kissing and removing clothes. This time, she looked down at his hands, still held in hers, and said, "Now you."  
  
She looked up, and he was ready. "Tell me you love me," he said, his voice sounding choked with emotion.  
  
She smiled up at him. "I love you."  
  
He smiled back, before he made his face serious. "Tell me you want me?" he said, his voice wistful.  
  
"I always want you," she said, running her thumb over his hand. She sighed, knowing that one of the hard parts was over.  
  
"Your book told me a lot about how you felt. And I knew there was no way I could top that. But I wanted to show you that I felt as much as you did. When I called you Spike, I know it must have seemed like a slap in the face," she said, glancing up at him. "So I get why you gave me the book to read. Whether you're Spike or Will, you love me, right?"  
  
Will nodded, resting his forehead against hers. At the contact, she nearly started crying, but managed to hold back her tears once again. "Well," she sniffed, "I feel the same way. So I think we're done here, so we can get out of here."  
  
He looked at her. "What do you mean?" She didn't answer, merely pulling him after her to her bedroom. She opened the door, and drew him inside.   
  
There were candles here, too, but fewer of them. Buffy's bed was covered in soft sheets, and there was a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket next to two glasses. Will took a step away from her, and dropped her hand. He looked around, and said, "It looks beautiful, love." But his voice seemed tired, and he sat down on the bed, looking dazed.  
  
She frowned, feeling her fear rising up. He had followed her lead, yes, but she had hardly let him get a word in edgewise. Had she been so confident of his feelings, after reading the book, that she had misjudged things? She sat down next to him on the bed, not touching him.   
  
"I've been talking so much tonight, because I thought the book was your talking. Please tell me I haven't been wrong tonight," she said, staring forward, unable to look at him.   
  
She felt his hand settle on top of hers, where it was resting on her leg. She felt her eyes pulled towards their hands as he started speaking.   
  
"I'm just a little overwhelmed. No one has ever done anything like this for me. You're the only person who's ever worked so hard to convince me that she loves me--all of me. The parts that I don't like, the parts that embarrass me, the parts that make me who I am." His voice choked. "It's not something I'm used to. But I think my brain's gotten the message."  
  
His hand reached around, and tilted her chin up, making her look at him. He rested his hand on her cheek, and once again, his forehead rested against hers. "Oh, Buffy, I love you so damn much, because I know that you love me just as much. You're so amazing, and I want to spend the rest of my life proving that I love you. Spike might have loved the old Buffy, and the old Buffy might have loved Spike, but it's a drop in the bucket to how it's gonna be when you and I love each other."  
  
Buffy sighed, slumping towards him with relief at his words, feeling like her happiness was so great, she couldn't possibly contain it within her body. So she kissed him, because together, the two of them could hold their joy and love as it filled up their bodies and their souls. Their kisses were deep, their hands touching each other with reverance, and she giddily thought that she could taste his soul in his kiss.  
  
They paused for breath, and she said, "Love you so much," as she wiped at the tears that had started falling from her eyes. He grinned at her, and leaned forward to start kissing each tear off her cheeks. Each time his lips pulled away from her face, he said, "Love you." He moved around her face, kissing her, and Buffy could only wrap her arms around him.   
  
As they laid back on the bed, kissing and touching, she couldn't help saying, "Well, this is some answer you're giving me, Will," feeling giddy with joy.  
  
Will smirked at her. "Just wait till I ask you the question I've been wanting to ask you for forever. But that'll have to wait . . ." he said, his voice trailing off as he kissed her neck. He groaned, and said, "Oh, God, how could I think that I could live without you?"   
  
She ran her hands over his back, and wiggled down until she could face him. "I can't believe we made it here. Who would have expected it?" she asked rhetorically, wrapping her leg around his waist.   
  
He pulled her against him, and said, between kisses, "No one, love. Guess we chose to make our own fate."  
  
End, Chapter Ten 


	12. Epilogue: Sit Outside Heaven's Door

What is Choice?  
  
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.  
  
Spoilers: Through Chosen.   
  
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. Also posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html).  
  
The title of this chapter comes from "Breathing" by Lifehouse.  
  
Epilogue One: Sit Outside Heaven's Door  
  
"You know, that's not really fair," commented Lachesis. "I mean, that was a hard problem you gave us, and then, you completely undermine the decision we made."  
  
The woman to whom Lachesis was speaking turned away from the events unfolding on Earth, a mischievious expression on her face. "Oh, come on, don't tell me that wasn't much better than what might have happened," she said, her brown eyes twinkling.  
  
This woman was known by many names. Some were common, some were known only to a few people, or even just one. Usually, though, she answered to God. Pompous, she would say, but true. She usually didn't like being called that, thanks to all the baggage the word came with, so she was content to be called the Woman, or the Great One, or just Boss.   
  
"That's not the point! Why do you even bother having us if you're going to stick your oar into any problem that draws your interest?" Atropos said angrily.  
  
Woman drew herself up to her full height and towered above the three Fates. "What are you going to do, go on strike?" she asked, her voice thunderous.  
  
"Now, now," the Powers interjected. Once agin in the form of the Irishman, the Powers moved forward to placate the two parties.   
  
He turned towards the woman who was in charge of everything. "No need for this. The Fates knew of your interest in this case so it's understandable why you wanted to watch the situation closely. But you have to conceed that the Fates have performed their duties admirably, especially in this situation. Sending him back with no memories? Brilliant!"  
  
The injured parties looked at each other, and then, their feathers smoothed, went back to normal.  
  
Clotho, who had been gazing dreamily off into space, said, "It was so romantic. And you did such a good job of talking to Will!" she said, turning towards the Great One.   
  
The woman plopped down on the grass next to Clotho. "Quite happy with that, I am. Always tough, putting things in terms that mortals will understand."  
  
The Powers nodded in understanding, taking a seat across from Clotho. "Aye, boss. Good work, that."  
  
"Well, it was worth it," the woman said, her eyes soft. "I don't think there's many people on the planet that were so deserving of happiness with so little chance of achieving it."  
  
Clotho sighed in agreement, and a silence fell over the group.  
  
Lachesis joined them, sitting next to Clotho and saying, "There was one thing I didn't understand. How did Will's first book come about?"  
  
They looked around the circle, and suddenly, Atropos came over and stared at each member of the group. "Oh, that's just too much!" she said, pointing her finger at the brown-eyed woman. "I can't believe that you meddled with that! You completely forced the issue!"  
  
Everyone looked at the woman in fear, wondering what action she would take with the angry Fate. But she merely looked at Atropos, and said, "I did what was necessary. You can't tell me that the situation was going well. They were happy, but it was an ignorant happiness, a false happiness. They deserved to know that they were happy because they had suffered. Otherwise, it's just an illusion in a magic show."  
  
Atropos flopped down grumpily next to the Powers. "I thought the point of giving them happiness was as a reward for their past actions. But what do I know?"  
  
"Not much, obviously, with the way you're baiting the boss," the Powers grumbled to her.  
  
"Oh, shove it, you wimp. You've never said one word against anything she's done. You just go along, toddling off to the mortal world and being all cryptic," Atropos snorted.   
  
The Powers rolled his eyes and groaned. "You're going to be the death of us."  
  
Clotho leaned over towards the woman. "They're like this all the time. Couldn't you make them corporeal for a week, so they could have sex and get it out of their systems?"  
  
The woman grinned at her, and said, "I'll keep my eye on it."  
  
Lachesis whispered to Clotho, "Bad idea. They'd be corporeal long enough to strangle each other."  
  
"That's what you think, sister dear," Clotho muttered back.  
  
They watched their sister argue with the representative from the Powers for a few moments, before Lachesis leaned over towards their boss. "Why did you take such an interest in this pair? It's so unusual for you to be this involved."  
  
The woman sighed gently. "I just had a feeling about those two. So many were hoping for their happiness, and it seemed so unlikely they would get it. It was almost like the more hope there was, the less chance for success there was. So, I exercised the privilege of divine intervention."  
  
"Plus, have you looked at the man? Hot," Clotho commented as she giggled.   
  
"Officially, that played no part in my decision," the woman said, but she winked at Clotho and resumed her position watching the activities on Earth.   
  
Lachesis stood and moved away from the group, gazing out over their grove. Clotho noticed her sister's pensive expression, and joined her.  
  
"Are you troubled by the outcome of these events, Lachesis?"  
  
Lachesis nodded. "I feel like this situation unfolded badly. The two souls went through pain, and despite the Great One's insistence, I can't help but believe it was unnecessary suffering." She glanced around, and whispered to Clotho, "Soap opera fan, you know--all about the pain," nodding towards Woman.   
  
Clotho shrugged her shoulders. "Ah, sister. It's worked out well, and they have a long, happy life together now. You so rarely have to make such decisions. It's logical that you won't always get them completely right. You'll be ready, then, for the next knot in the thread."  
  
Lachesis sighed. "I hope you're right, Clotho."  
  
Suddenly, the Great One snapped her fingers. "Wow, Neruda and sex! He is good!" she said, her attention riveted on the events occurring in one small bedroom in one small apartment in one big city.  
  
The two sisters looked at each other. They glanced over at Atropos, who was still locked in a battle of dueling wits with the Powers' messenger. Lachesis raised her eyebrow at Clotho, and Clotho grinned back. Then, with movements in near-unison, they joined the brown-eyed woman and gazed at the Earth.  
  
Lachesis watched the two happy mortals, and thought to herself, "Now, this is the perfect solution."  
  
End, Epilogue One 


	13. Author's Note

An NC-17 epilogue is available, on my website, at http://www.lostinwonderland.org/buffy/choice12.html .   
  
If you've enjoyed this story, I appreciate feedback. Thank you so much for reading!  
  
Melissa  
  
(dettiot@yahoo.com) 


End file.
